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THE   MAN 
WITHOUT  A   SHADOW 


"I  found  myself  standing  face  to  face  with  Virginia." 

[Page   131.] 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT 
A  SHADOW 


BY 

OLIVER  CABOT 


ILLUSTRATED 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1908,  by  The  Frank  A.  Munsey  Co. 


Published  April,  1999 


1 1  seek  myself  and  am  but  myself  a  shadow." 

—"The  Pilgrim,"  FLETCHER. 


CONTENTS 


I. — THE  AWAKENING i 

II. — THE  CORDS  TIGHTEN 9 

III. — THE  AMBUSH 19 

IV. — MR.  DUGGLEBY 31 

V. — THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  CAB 41 

VI. — LOST 51 

VII.— I  GET  A  JOB 58 

VIII. — A  NEW  FRIEND  AND  AN  OLD  ENEMY    .       .  71 

IX. — THE  FLIGHT  IN  THE  DARK       ....  88 

X. — MONSIEUR  BARRAS 99 

XI. — SUCH  STUFF  AS  DREAMS  ARE  MADE  OF         .  in 

XII. — THE  ORDEAL 122 

XIII. — A  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN 136 

XIV.— THE  SPRING 147 

XV. — WHAT  THE  BREEZE  BROUGHT  ME   .       .       .  158 

XVI.— THE  PARIS  Herald 171 

XVII.— THE  SPY 180 

XVIII. — THE  MYSTERIOUS  PATIENT        ....  193 

XIX.— THE  MAN  I  WAS 206 

vii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX. — IN  THE  ROAD 221 

XXI. — THE  AFFAIR  IN  THE  CLOAKROOM     .       .       .  232 

XXII. — AN  INTIMATE  STRANGER 242 

XXIII. — DEJEUNER  AT  THE  CHATEAU     ....  256 
XXIV.— WHAT  DR.  LINOL  TOLD  ME     .       .       .       .267 

XXV.— VIRGINIA         . 277 

XXVI. — MY  LAST  EXPERIMENT 285 

XXVII. — THE  SECRET  CHAMBER 302 

XXVIII.— A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE 315 

XXIX. — THE  LAST  CARD 325 

XXX— "Mv  ALL-THE-WORLD"      .       .       .      .       .336 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FAOIMG 
PAGE 


'*  I    found    myself   standing    face    to    face    with    Vir- 
ginia " Frontispiece 

ff « This  is  the  sheet  of  music  the  gentleman  wishes  to 

see'" 84 

"  I  read  it.   ...    My  house  of  cards  was  demolished, 

indeed" 178 

«'  There  was   something    positively  magnetic  about  her 

hands"     .        .        .  282 


EDITORIAL    FROM    THE    NEW    YORK    PLANET 

The  control  of  one  of  the  most  important 
single  industrial  organizations  in  this  country 
will  pass  within  the  next  day  or  two  into  the 
hands  of  a  young  man  in  his  early  twenties. 
So  far  as  is  generally  known,  he  will  take  up 
this  heavy  responsibility  with  no  better  equip- 
ment for  it  than  is  afforded  by  a  large  paternal 
allowance  and  a  dilettante's  pursuit  of  the 
fine  arts  in  France. 

The  industry  in  question  is  the  great  ship- 
building yard  of  the  Morton  Duggleby  Com- 
pany at  Cleveport,  N.  J.  The  practical  di- 
rection of  this  company  has  been  for  many 
years  in  the  hands  of  its  second  largest  stock- 
holder, Mr.  Thomas  Duggleby,  the  late  Chris- 
topher Morton,  the  holder  of  the  controlling 
interest,  having  been  for  some  time  inactive. 

Under  the  terms  of  the  will,  his  entire  prop- 
erty goes  with  no  restrictions  whatever  to  his 
son,  the  present  Christopher  Morton.  The 
property  in  question  is  worth  more  than  a 
score  of  millions,  and  the  wisdom  and  skill 
with  which  it  is  managed  is  a  matter  of 
national  concern. 

After  the  lapse  of  four  decades,  the  business 
of  building  ships  and  the  flying  of  the  Ameri- 
can flag  on  all  the  seven  seas  of  the  world 
again  bids  fair  to  revive  the  glorious  tradition 
of  the  last  century.  Consequently,  it  is  not 
an  impertinent  intrusion  into  his  private  af- 
fairs to  warn  young  Mr.  Morton  of  the  heavy 
responsibility  that  rests  upon  him. 

This  property  is  in  good  hands  to-day;  cer- 
tainly in  stronger  and  more  successful  hands 
than  his  own.  A  large  part  of  his  inheritance 
is  of  a  sort  that  cannot  be  expressed  between 
a  dollar  sign  and  a  decimal  point.  He  has 
inherited  a  name  which  deserves  a  large  and 
honorable  place  in  our  history  among  the 
captains  of  peace. 

If  he  shall  prove  negligent  of  this  inheri- 
tance and  shall  allow  his  own  caprice  to  usurp 
a  better-grounded  authority,  he  will  have 
added  an  argument  of  no  light  weight  against 
the  unrestricted  transference  of  property  by 
bequest. 


THE    MAN 
WITHOUT    A    SHADOW 


CHAPTER    I 

THE   AWAKENING 

AFTER  a  glance  about  me,  I  turned  to  the 
man  who  was  seated  at  the  other  end  of  the 
bench.  He  was  dozing  in  the  warm  June  sun,  his 
pipe  dangling  from  his  relaxed  jaw. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I.  "  May  I  ask  you 
to  tell  me  where  I  am?  " 

I  am  a  man  apparently  about  thirty  years  old, 
though  it  may  be  that  I  am  younger  than  I  look, 
but  the  moment  in  which  I  cast  that  glance  around 
and  asked  the  question  of  the  other  occupant  of 
my  bench,  is  my  earliest  conscious  memory. 

Back  of  that,  except  for  some  hazy,  dreamlike 
pictures,  is  an  absolute  void.  I  shall  speak  of  those 
pictures  in  detail  presently.  They  are  all  I  have 
that  afford  any  hope  of  success  in  the  vast  and  al- 
most impossible  task  which  lies  before  me ;  all  that 
supply  any  incentive  for  attempting  the  task  at  all. 

i 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

I  know  that  some  time,  perhaps  a  month,  per- 
haps a  year  ago — possibly  longer  than  that — a 
man  was  lost.  A  man  of  education,  certainly,  and, 
I  am  inclined  to  think,  a  man  who  occupied  no 
unimportant  niche  in  the  world's  affairs.  That 
man  lived  in  my  body,  thought  with  my  mind,  was 
actually  myself.  It  is  my  task  to  find  him. 

I  feel,  as  I  write  this,  like  one  who  builds  a 
house  of  cards,  which  a  breath  or  the  brush 
of  a  careless  sleeve  may  bring  to  utter  wreck.  I 
mean  to  commit  to  paper  these  memories  of  the 
past  few  days  and  also  those  pictures,  which  I 
hardly  dare  call  memories,  in  order  to  have  them 
safe,  in  case  the  obliterating  hand  which  has  once 
before  passed  over  the  tablets  of  my  mind  shall 
come  my  way  again. 

I  said  my  task  was  almost  impossible.  That 
statement  may  have  a  strange  sound.  Surely,  one 
would  say,  I  must  have  friends  eager  to  welcome 
me  back  to  my  old  place.  It  may  be.  I  have 
found  none  yet,  and  I  have  found  enemies — or 
an  enemy,  for  the  web  around  me  seems  to  have 
been  woven  by  one  master  mind.  If  so,  he  will 
have  taken  care  that  no  friendly  hand  shall  ever 
be  stretched  out  to  my  rescue. 

If  ever  I  escape  from  this  cell  into  which  malign 
chance  has  delivered  me,  this  cell  of  utter  hopeless 
oblivion,  it  will  be  through  my  own  efforts; 

2 


THE    AWAKENING 

through  the  shrewdness,  courage,  and,  above  all, 
the  patience  which  I  may  be  able  to  command  in 
my  own  behalf. 

And  why  do  I  do  it  at  all?  Why  do  I — the 
most  helpless  waif  in  all  the  world — persist  in  a 
campaign  so  nearly  hopeless,  so  full,  as  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  past  few  days  have  already  too 
clearly  shown,  of  dangers  and  discouragements? 
Well,  my  pictures,  my  dream  pictures — I  hardly 
dare  call  them  more  than  that — are  responsible. 
For  among  them  is  a  woman,  one  of  the  loveliest, 
I  verily  believe  her  to  be,  of  all  the  world.  I  see 
her  in  a  hundred  different  ways,  each  one  more 
charming,  more  alluring  than  the  others;  and 
when  her  eyes  turn  toward  me,  as  again  and  again 
they  do,  there  is  love  in  them.  To  find  those  eyes, 
not  in  my  own  dim  dreams,  but  somewhere  out  in 
God's  bright  day,  I  will  search  the  world. 

Now  I  will  tell  my  story. 

My  question  aroused  the  man  on  my  bench 
from  his  doze,  but  I  had  to  repeat  it  before  he 
caught  its  import. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  am?  "  said  I. 

His  pipe  clattered  on  the  brick-paved  path.  He 
straightened  up  in  a  flash  and  looked  at  me  aston- 
ished. To  give  him  time  to  gather  his  wits,  I  went 
on  talking. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  have  been  unconscious.  Or 
3 


was  it  worse  than  that?  Mad,  perhaps?  If 
that's  the  case,  this  building  is  an  asylum,  I  sup- 
pose. But  have  I  been  here  long?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  anything  about  that,"  said 
the  man ;  "  I  am  just  a  guard.  I — I'll  go  and  call 
the  doctor." 

I  reflected  that  it  could  hardly  be  so  very  un- 
usual that  even  the  maddest  patient  should  enjoy 
an  interval  of  sudden  lucidity.  This  consideration 
made  the  guard's  excitement  rather  hard  to  ac- 
count for.  Astonishment  was  hardly  the  word  to 
describe  the  man's  emotion,  either.  It  seemed, 
now  I  reflected  on  it,  more  like  a  sort  of  vicarious 
alarm.  He  had  bolted  around  the  corner  of  the 
building  without  another  word  to  me. 

I  rose  from  my  bench,  walked  two  or  three 
paces,  stretched  my  arms  and  looked  myself  over. 

I  was  well  dressed;  there  was  no  suggestion  of 
a  uniform  about  my  clothes  and  no  restriction  on 
my  moving  about  freely.  Evidently  I  had  been 
well  taken  care  of.  I  raised  my  hand  to  my  face, 
and  somewhat  to  my  surprise  found  a  beard  there. 
That  was  all  I  could  determine  about  myself  for 
the  moment,  so  I  walked  a  few  paces  down  the 
path  and  turned  back  to  look  at  the  building 
against  whose  sunny  wall  we  had  been  sitting. 

It  gave  me,  contrary  to  my  expectations,  a  lit- 
tle momentary  feeling  of  pleasure.  It  was  small, 

4 


THE   AWAKENING 

one  of  a  group  arranged  in  quadrangular  form, 
and  of  a  homelike  architecture.  If  it  were  an  asy- 
lum, and  so  much  my  guard  seemed  to  have  ad- 
mitted, it  was  clearly  no  public  institution,  but  a 
private  affair,  and  I  might  be  sure  that  the  main- 
tenance of  every  one  of  the  inmates  was  hand- 
somely paid  for. 

That  conclusion  might  well  have  given  me 
grounds  for  uneasiness,  but  for  the  moment  it  did 
not.  My  mind  was  taken  up  with  the  fact  that  I 
had  no  idea  who  had  been  paying  for  me.  In  that 
moment  I  made  my  first  attempt  to  recover,  out 
of  the  past,  my  own  identity.  My  failure  did  not, 
just  then,  greatly  alarm  me.  I  was  perfectly  sane 
again;  of  that  I  felt  sure;  and  the  recovery  of  my 
memory  could  only  be  a  matter  of  hours,  possibly 
moments. 

My  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  return 
of  the  guard,  evidently  in  disgrace  for  having  left 
me  to  myself,  even  for  so  short  a  time,  and  vastly 
relieved  to  find  me  standing  intact  before  him. 

He  was  accompanied  by  another  man,  an  au- 
thoritative-looking person  whom  I  took  to  be  the 
doctor  he  had  gone  to  seek. 

His  face,  like  the  guard's,  was  totally  unfamil- 
iar to  me,  though  he  had  very  likely  been  in  con- 
stant attendance  on  me  for  a  long  while.  I  bowed 
to  him. 

5 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  Good  morning,"  said  I,  and  then  I  smiled  a 
little,  "  or  should  I  say  *  good  afternoon  '  ?  I  have 
no  idea  which  it  is.  You  are  a  doctor?  " 

He  bowed  in  assent.  "  Berry  is  my  name,"  he 
said. 

"  I  seem  to  have  astonished  your  guard  some- 
what by  asking  him  where  I  was,"  I  went  on,  "  for 
he  ran  off  post  haste  to  find  you,  without  stopping 
to  answer  me." 

After  my  first  glance  at  him  I  had  allowed  my 
eyes  to  wander  from  his  face  to  the  attractive 
stretch  of  well-kept  lawn  which  lay  behind  him,  and 
I  did  not  meet  his  eye  again  till  I  had  finished 
speaking.  When  I  did,  I  found  a  look  there  which 
concentrated  all  my  faculties  at  once  upon  the  man 
himself. 

It  was  gone  in  a  second,  but  while  it  lasted  it 
expressed  more  plainly  than  my  words  can  express 
it,  the  state  of  mind  of  a  man  alarmed  and  casting 
about,  desperately,  for  means  to  meet  an  utterly 
unforeseen  contingency;  but  his  face  was  composed 
into  a  look  of  mere  solicitude  for  my  welfare 
before  he  spoke. 

"  I  would  not  trouble  about  that,  if  I  were  you," 
said  he.  ;t  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  for  you 
to  worry  about.  Look  at  the  sky  instead,  and  see 
what  a  day  it  is.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  finer 
than  the  young  green  on  those  trees  yonder?  " 

6 


THE   AWAKENING 

"  I  share  your  enthusiasm  for  the  day,'*  said  I, 
"  and  I  am  not  in  the  least  worried,  but  I  am  in- 
tensely curious.  I  will  waive  the  question  of 
where  I  am,  if  you're  afraid  the  answer  would 
disturb  me,  but  I  would  like  an  answer  to  another 
that's  a  good  deal  more  important.  That  ques- 
tion is,  Who  am  I  ?  My  memory  for  the  moment 
seems  to  be  playing  tricks  with  me." 

This  time  I  looked  at  him  while  I  spoke,  keen 
to  get  what  answer  I  could  from  his  look  as  well 
as  from  his  words.  A  man  less  alert  than  I — a 
blind  man — might  have  understood  the  effect  of 
my  question  upon  him.  He  simply  gasped  with 
relief,  and  there  flickered  in  his  eye  an  evil  look 
of  perfectly  ruthless  joy. 

"  I  can  answer  that  question,"  he  said.  He  was 
trying  to  keep  a  quiver  of  eagerness  out  of  his 
voice,  but  not  succeeding  very  well.  "  You  are  a 
— a  house  painter,"  he  said,  "  a  sort  of  odd-job 
man,  employed  by  the  owner  of  one  of  the  large 
country  estates  in  this  vicinity.  You  had  an  acci- 
dent. A  piece  of  staging  gave  way,  and  you  fell 
on  your  head,  and  have  been  in  a  state  of  only 
semiconsciousness  since.  We  were  afraid  that  the 
only  hope  for  your  recovery  lay  in  a  serious  sur- 
gical operation  which  would  endanger  your  life. 
The  owner  of  the  estate,  your  employer,  a  Mr. — 
a — Thompson — does  the  name  bring  anything 
2  7 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

back,  by  the  way? — sent  you  here  to  be  under  our 
observation  so  that  we  might  decide  whether  an 
operation  were  necessary  or  not.  Do  you  remem- 
ber it  at  all  now?  Does  nothing  come  back  to 
you?" 

My  first  impulse  was  to  laugh  in  his  face.  The 
man  was  not  only  lying,  he  was  lying  clumsily, 
desperately;  for  a  second  I  was  very  near  betray- 
ing the  fact  that  I  knew  it. 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  though  a  warning  finger 
had  been  laid  on  my  lips,  I  realized  a  little  of  the 
true  peril  of  my  position,  realized  that  I  could  not 
afford  to  waste  a  single  card  in  the  game  I  found 
myself  called  upon  to  play. 

"  This  sun  is  a  little  hot,"  I  said  vaguely.  "  I 
-don't  think  I  want  to  talk  any  more  now.  May 
I  go  to  my  room  ?  " 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    CORDS  TIGHTEN 

ACTING  in  the  character  of  a  man  relapsing 
into  a  stupor,  I  turned  abruptly  away  from 
them,  and  blundering  a  little  in  my  walk,  set  out 
for  the  nearest  building.  My  guard  would  have 
been  at  my  side  in  an  instant  had  not  the  doctor 
detained  him  with  an  imperative  signal.  I  heard, 
as  I  walked  away,  the  low  murmur  of  voices,  that 
of  the  doctor  betraying,  though  I  could  not  hear 
the  words,  a  note  of  exasperation  at  the  guard's 
slowness  in  understanding  his  instructions. 

Presently,  however,  the  man  overtook  me,  and, 
guiding  me  by  the  elbow,  turned  me  into  the  en- 
trance of  the  building  I  had  set  out  for. 

The  broad  entrance  hall  with  its  polished  floor 
and  graceful  stairway  contained  as  little  to  sug- 
gest the  purpose  to  which  the  building  was  put  as 
the  exterior  of  it  did.  I  caught  a  glimpse  through 
a  doorway  of  a  number  of  well-dressed  people 
reading,  and  heard  educated  voices  carrying  on 
what  seemed  to  me  like  perfectly  normal,  casual 

9 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

conversation.  Evidently  the  place  was  a  sani- 
tarium rather  than  an  asylum  in  the  strict  sense 
of  the  word. 

The  guard  led  me  up  the  stairs.  At  the  head  of 
the  first  flight,  obedient  to  an  instinct  of  which  I 
was-  perfectly  unconscious,  I  hesitated,  almost 
stopped,  in  fact,  before  a  doorway. 

"Not  there,"  the  guard  said  sharply;  "that 
ain't  where  you  go." 

In  a  flash  I  realized  that  my  instinct  had  been  a 
true  one.  I  had  stopped  at  the  door  of  what  had 
been,  up  to  this  time,  my  room.  Affecting  not 
to  hear  the  guard,  I  opened  the  door,  entered,  and 
blundered  into  the  nearest  chair.  I  knew,  of 
course,  that  I  should  not  be  allowed  to  stay  there, 
but  I  was  curious  to  see  in  what  sort  of  style  I 
had  lived  before  the  doctor  had  converted  me,  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  into  a  house  painter  and 
odd-job  man  on  a  near-by  estate. 

The  room  was  spacious,  luxurious  in  its  appoint- 
ments, and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white-tiled 
bathroom  opening  from  it.  That  was  all  I  had 
time  to  see,  for  the  guard  pulled  me  abruptly  to 
my  feet. 

14  Didn't  you  hear  me  tell  you  not  to  go  in 
there?  "  he  demanded. 

I  only  wagged  my  head  stupidly,  and  went  with' 
him  quietly  enough.  He  conducted  me  up  two 

10 


THE    CORDS   TIGHTEN 

more  flights  of  stairs,  quite  to  the  top  of  the  build- 
ing, where,  opening  a  door,  he  thrust  me  uncere- 
moniously into  a  little  cubicle  of  a  room,  made 
up  largely  of  a  dormer  window  which  looked  down 
upon  the  eaves. 

The  room  was  shabby  and  none  too  clean,  and 
I  judged  that  it  was  usually  occupied  by  one  of  the 
servants.  The  guard  seemed  nervous  lest  I  should 
make  an  attempt  to  draw  him  into  conversation, 
and  got  out  of  the  room  as  quickly  as  he  could, 
locking  the  door  after  him. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  place  to  warrant  ex- 
amination. I  opened  a  closet  door  and  found  it 
bare ;  so  I  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

The  first  thing  I  saw  was  interesting  enough; 
two  men  on  a  hanging  stage  were  busily  at  work 
painting  the  side  of  the  next  building.  They  had 
been  working  under  the  doctor's  eye  when  my 
guard  had  rushed  up  to  inform  him  of  my  return 
to  consciousness.  They  had  furnished  him  with  a 
hint  for  the  lie  he  had  told  me,  and  were,  I  re- 
flected with  a  smile,  the  unconscious  and  innocent 
cause  of  the  sudden  change  in  my  own  estate.  The 
story  of  the  house  painter  and  odd-job  man  was 
going  to  be  lived  up  to. 

My  eye  traveled  past  the  edge  of  the  building 
and  over  the  broad  sweep  of  rolling  lawn  and 
shrubbery  to  where  the  woods  began.  Presently, 

ii 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

getting  my  eyes  focused  to  the  distance,  I  made 
out  in  a  gap  between  the  trees  what  I  was  sure  was 
the  boundary  wall  of  the  property.  It  was  hard 
to  judge  its  height  from  the  distance,  but  I  had  no 
doubt  it  was  high  enough  to  make  scaling  it  a  diffi- 
cult or,  perhaps,  impossible  feat,  except  for  an 
athlete. 

I  caught  myself  smiling  there  over  the  question 
in  my  mind,  whether  I  was  an  athlete  or  not. 
When  I  went  to  bed  to-night  I  would  know  more 
about  that. 

The  wall  had  not  yet  lost  its  interest  for  me, 
however.  Looking  at  it  closely,  I  was  sure  that 
I  made  out  a  fine  veil  of  dust  rising  above  it,  which 
was  accounted  for  on  the  next  favoring  slant  of 
the  wind  by  the  steady  thrum  of  a  motor  car.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  wall,  then,  lay  a  highway. 
That  discovery  might  possibly  prove  important. 

I  was  to  find  out  one  thing  more  before  I  left 
that  window.  It  came  the  next  moment,  and  again 
it  was  the  breeze  that  brought  it  to  me — the  long- 
drawn,  melodious  chime  of  the  sort  of  whistle 
that  is  carried  by  our  great  racing  passenger  loco- 
motives. The  train  was  whistling  for  a  stop,  and 
was  going  to  stop  not  more  than  a  mile  or  two 
away. 

Instinctively  I  felt  for  my  watch,  but  there  was 
nothing  of  the  sort  in  my  pocket.  I  was  disap- 

12 


THE    CORDS   TIGHTEN 

pointed,  for  though  only  half  conscious  of  the 
reason  why,  I  wanted  to  know  what  time  that  train, 
came  in.  Suddenly  an  expedient  occurred  to  me. 
The  sun  was  slanting  through  my  window  at  an 
acute  angle  with  the  casement.  With  my  thumb 
nail  I  scratched  on  the  sill  the  outline  of  the 
shadow. 

Some  one  was  standing  outside  my  door,  watch- 
ing me,  no  doubt,  through  the  keyhole.  An  invol- 
untary movement  of  his  feet  betrayed  so  much  to 
me,  and  a  moment  later,  restless  of  espionage,  I 
crossed  over  to  the  farther  corner  of  the  room. 

In  doing  so  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  another  move- 
ment, and  looking  up  I  saw  what  I  wonder  I  had 
not  thought  of  looking  for  earlier — a  mirror. 
The  sight  of  it  made  my  heart  beat  quickly. 

"  Of  course,"  I  thought,  "  that  is  all  it  needs. 
A  glance  at  myself  will  bring  my  memory  back 
to  me." 

I  walked  around  and  stood  before  the  glass. 
But  the  face  I  saw  was  absolutely  strange  to  me, 
as  strange  as  the  doctor's  face  or  the  guard's  had 
been.  It  was  bewildering,  uncanny,  almost  enough 
indeed  to  drive  a  man  mad,  to  see  the  haggard 
look  of  pain  and  disappointment  and  something 
not  far  from  terror  in  that  stranger's  face;  and 
to  realize  that  it  was  only  the  irrepressible  emo- 
tion of  my  own  soul  that  I  saw  reflected  there. 

13 


Then,  like  a  touch  of  the  spur,  rallying  all  my 
courage  anew,  there  came  the  faint  sound  of  a 
chuckling  laugh  from  the  other  side  of  the  door. 
In  standing  before  the  mirror  I  had  again  come 
under  the  observation  of  the  man  at  the  keyhole. 
The  same  bewildered,  disappointed  face  which  I 
had  seen,  he  had  seen,  too. 

I  dropped  down  on  the  edge  of  my  bed  and 
buried  my  face  in  my  hands.  I  heard  footsteps 
tiptoeing  away  from  my  door,  and  then  in  a  mo- 
ment, as  I  half  expected,  returning  noisily. 

"  Come  in,"  said  I,  in  answer  to  the  knock. 

It  was  the  doctor,  but  this  time  the  doctor  with 
his  manner  all  prepared.  It  was  at  once  good- 
humored  and  patronizing. 

'  Well,  my  good  man,"  said  he,  "  I  hope  you 
feel  no  further  ill  effects  from  that  warm  June 
sun." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  guess  I'm  right  enough." 

Then,  by  way  of  experiment,  I  shot  a  quick 
question  at  him. 

"  Is  this  my  room,  the  room  I  have  lived  in  right 
along?" 

His  face  seemed  to  stiffen  a  little  in  its  false 
mask  of  kindly  humor. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said;  "but  you  must  not  ex- 
pect to  remember  anything  about  that.  You  have 
been,  as  I  said  before,  only  half  conscious  since 


THE    CORDS   TIGHTEN 

you  came  here.  It  would  be  altogether  extraor- 
dinary if  you  were  to  recognize  the  room  or  the 
building  or  any  of  our  faces.  But  does  nothing 
come  back  from  beyond  that  time;  nothing  that 
happened  before  your  accident?  " 

I  shook  my  head  dully. 

"  What  did  you  tell  me  I  was?  "  I  asked. 

I  dared  not  look  at  him,  but  I  was  aware  that 
he  was  uneasily  balancing  the  probability  of  my 
having  forgotten  his  clumsy  lie  of  the  morning, 
and  the  wisdom  of  taking  this  chance  to  tell  me  a 
better  one.  He  decided  against  it,  however. 

'  You  were  a  man  who  did  odd  jobs;  a  house 
painter  by  trade,  I  believe." 

"  I  saw  some  men  painting  from  my  window," 
I  commented  rather  vacuously,  but  I  glanced  at 
him  quickly  enough  to  see  in  his  face  that  he  recog- 
nized a  blunder  in  having  put  me  in  a  room  that 
overlooked  these  operations. 

"  Did  you  tell  me  my  name?  "  I  asked. 

He  was  ready  with  one;  he  did  not  say 
"  Smith." 

"  Andrew  Meiklejohn."  Then  he  added — and 
I  could  have  throttled  him  for  the  sneer  which  I 
heard  underlying  his  friendly,  solicitous  words — 
"  Does  that  bring  nothing  back?  " 

I  simply  shook  my  head. 

"  And  is  there  nothing  in  your  mind  at  all;  no 
15 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

memory  that  seems  like  a  dream?  Nothing  that 
you  can  tell  me?  " 

His  voice  was  eager  as  he  asked  the  question. 

This  time  I  made  no  answer,  even  by  a  sign.  I 
just  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  my  head  drooping 
in  sullen  silence. 

"  Well,  well,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said,  rising 
from  his  chair,  "  you  must  not  be  downhearted. 
The  moment  any  memory  does  come  to  you,  send 
for  me.  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you." 

Then  I  did  a  foolish  thing.  I  allowed  my  anger 
for  the  moment  to  get  the  better  of  me. 

"  Then  I  am  to  stay  here,"  I  said,  "  until  I  can 
remember  that  my  name  is  Andrew  Meiklejohn, 
and  that  I  used  to  be  a  house  painter?  " 

There  was  a  cutting  edge  of  satire  in  my  voice. 
It  roused  his  quick  suspicion  like  the  flick  of  a  whip. 
I  would  have  given  much  to  unsay  the  words,  but 
it  was  too  late.  He  gave  me  a  venomous  smile. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  discouraged,"  he  said,  "  and, 
above  all,  don't  lose  sleep  and  appetite  over  it.  I 
will  see  you  again  to-morrow."  With  that  he  left 
me  abruptly. 

He  left  me  very  nearly  in  despair.  What  did  it 
matter  after  all,  that  he  had  lied  clumsily?  The 
cards  were  all  in  his  hands.  He  had  no  need  for 
finesse.  If  I  were  to  express  disbelief  in  the  pre- 
cious tale  he  had  told  me,  it  would  simply  be  tol- 

16 


THE    CORDS   TIGHTEN 

crated  as  the  natural  delusion  of  a  madman.  If  I 
remonstrated  at  his  keeping  me  there,  if  I  made 
the  faintest  hint  of  resistance,  there  was,  no  doubt, 
a  strait-jacket  on  the  premises  which  they  could 
rely  on  to  bring  me  to  terms. 

And  as  for  a  chance  of  escape:  I  went  to  the 
window  and  tried  to  open  it.  The  sash  rose  a  scant 
six  inches,  and  there  was  checked  by  a  cunningly 
contrived  lock.  There  was  a  guard  outside  my 
door.  He  was  tramping  up  and  down  the  corri- 
dor quite  frankly,  like  a  sentry  on  a  beat. 

Even  supposing  myself  safely  over  the  wall  and 
on  the  highway,  what  chance  had  an  absolutely 
penniless  man,  who  knew  neither  who  he  was  nor 
where  he  was,  nor  the  name  of  one  friend  in  all 
the  world,  what  chance  had  he  to  remain  more 
than  a  single  night  at  liberty? 

The  sun  was  getting  low  when  a  faint  clatter  of 
dishes  and  a  knock  at  the  door  announced  supper. 
It  was  brought  to  me  on  a  tray,  daintily  served, 
and  was  an  appetizing  repast. 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  the  doctor  gave  me  one 
good  piece  of  advice,  anyway.  I'll  eat  and  I'll 
sleep;  I'll  keep  my  health  and  I'll  do  the  best  I 
can  with  my  spirits." 

For  just  a  flicker  there  passed  through  my  mind 
the  notion  that  it  was  somewhat  curious  that  the 
meal  should  show  no  traces  of  my  recent  fall  to 

17 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

the  estate  of  house  painter.  To  match  the  room, 
it  should  have  been  served  on  thick  dishes,  and 
should  not  have  comprised  half  the  variety  that 
was  here  offered  to  me.  But  the  thought  went 
away  as  quickly  as  it  came,  possibly  because  I  was 
really  hungry,  and  I  settled  to  my  meal  with  the 
expectation  of  enjoying  it. 

I  was  half  through,  when  something  brought 
that  disquieting  notion  back  to  me.  There  seemed 
to  be  an  odd  taste  to  everything  I  had  eaten.  It 
was  no  taste  that  I  recognized.  Everything  was 
perfectly  cooked,  but  certainly  every  single  article 
on  that  tray  had  a  faint  suggestion  of  that  same 
curious  flavor. 

And  then  my  knife  and  fork  dropped  with  a 
clatter  from  my  nerveless  hands.  I  knew  now  why 
I  had  not  suddenly  been  reduced  to  the  coarse  fare 
of  a  laborer.  I  knew  why  the  doctor  had  advised 
me  to  eat.  The  food  was  drugged. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  AMBUSH 

THE  opium — for  it  was  this  drug  I  have  no 
doubt  that  had  been  put  into  my  food — had 
one  effect  which  the  doctor  can  hardly  have  an- 
ticipated. To  a  certain  extent  it  acted  upon  my 
memory,  as  a  developer  acts  upon  'an  exposed 
plate. 

My  dreams,  from  the  time  when  I  lost  con- 
sciousness over  the  supper  tray  until  I  awakened 
in  bed  early  the  next  morning,  were  far  more  vivid 
than  any  I  had  any  recollection  of.  They  did  not 
tell  me  who  I  was,  to  be  sure,  but  they  gave  me 
two  or  three  pictures  so  minutely  outlined,  that 
I  am  sure  I  shall  recognize  them  if  ever  I  can  get 
the  chance.  The  consolation  of  that  thought, 
however,  did  not  come  to  me  till  afterwards. 

When,  with  difficulty,  I  had  roused  myself  from 
my  heavy  sleep  and  was  able  intelligently  to  take 
account  of  my  present  situation,  it  seemed  a  thou- 
sandfold more  desperate  than  it  had  the  day  be- 
fore. They  had  come  into  my  room,  once  they 

19 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

had  found  me  safe  asleep,  stripped  me  and  put  me 
to  bed.  This  morning  my  clothes  were  gone. 
That  fact  alone  was  enough  to  make  the  hope  of 
escape  absolutely  insane. 

The  plot  was  clear  enough.  They  would  keep 
me  here  in  solitary  confinement,  persistently  drug- 
ging my  food,  until  hunger  compelled  me  to  eat 
it;  until  I  had  established  an  appetite  for  the  drug 
itself;  until  at  last  I  should  be  utterly  and  hope- 
lessly mad  indeed. 

Well,  I  would  fight  off  despair  as  long  as  I 
could.  So  much  I  solemnly  promised  myself. 

A  dash  of  cold  water  out  of  the  ewer,  and  a  few 
deep  breaths  of  the  young  June  air  which  came  in 
my  partly  opened  window,  revived  me.  Then, 
more  to  provide  myself  with  an  occupation  than 
in  any  hope  of  gaining  anything  by  it,  I  began  a 
most  minute  examination  of  the  room.  Not  a 
corner  of  it  escaped  me.  A  rickety  little  table 
stood  in  the  dormer,  and  I  remarked  what  I  had 
failed  to  observe  on  the  previous  afternoon ;  it  con- 
tained a  drawer.  I  pulled  it  open  half-heartedly. 
Then  seeing  what  it  contained,  I  stood  quickly 
erect. 

Hope  was  thrilling  in  my  veins  again.  I  saw 
a  way  of  escape  opening  up  before  me. 

What  was  this  great  discovery  that,  in  an  in- 
stant, had  served  to  change  the  face  of  the  world  ? 

20 


THE    AMBUSH 

Pathetically  trivial  it  may  seem.  Nothing  but  a 
well-gnawed  stub  of  a  pencil  and  a  few  soiled 
sheets  of  pink  and  highly  perfumed  note  paper. 
They  had  become  too  soiled  and  shabby  for  the 
housemaid,  who  had  occupied  the  room  before  me, 
to  think  it  worth  while  to  take  them  away  with 
her. 

I  did  not  have  to  cast  about  to  find  a  use  to 
which  this  unexpected  treasure-trove  could  be  put; 
it  came  to  me  complete  in  the  half  second  between 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  that  drawer.  But  I 
went  back  to  bed,  and  for  an  hour  I  tested  my  plan 
by  every  contingency  I  could  think  of. 

When  they  knocked  at  the  door  with  my  break- 
fast, I  was  ready.  I  did  not  answer  the  knock. 
When  the  man  entered  with  my  tray,  I  glowered 
at  him  and  roughly  ordered  him  to  be  off. 

"  Take  that  stuff  away,"  said  I,  "  if  you  don't 
want  me  to  pitch  it  out  of  the  window." 

He  seemed  rather  nonplused  at  this  develop- 
ment, but  after  a  moment  of  hesitation,  obeyed  me. 
I  heard  him  tramping  off  down  the  corridor,  and 
knew  with  perfect  certainty  that  inside  of  five  min- 
utes I  should  hear  Dr.  Berry's  quiet,  catlike  tread 
coming  to  take  up  his  post  of  observation  outside 
my  keyhole.  That  was  what  I  wanted. 

I  let  him  wait  a  while.  Then  furtively,  and  as 
silently  as  possible,  I  went  over  to  my  table,  took 

21 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

the  paper  from  the  drawer,  drew  up  a  chair  and 
settled  down  to  write.  It  was  a  mere  tissue  of 
nonsense  with  which  I  covered  sheet  after  sheet  of 
that  soiled,  perfumed  paper.  I  worked  slowly, 
apparently  with  the  greatest  labor,  for  I  meant 
not  to  finish  until  the  sun  was  within  an  hour  of 
where  it  had  been  yesterday  when  I  had  outlined 
the  shadow  of  the  casement  on  the  sill  with  my 
thumb  nail. 

The  excitement  mounted  higher  and  higher  in 
my  veins  as  the  time  passed.  It  was  hard  to  wait ; 
hard  not  to  risk  throwing  my  great  chance  away, 
out  of  sheer  impatience,  by  putting  my  plan  to  the 
test  too  soon. 

My  greatest  fear  was  lest  the  doctor  should 
leave  his  post  of  observation,  but  I  had  calculated 
rightly.  He  had  too  much  at  stake  to  take  any 
chances. 

At  last  the  hour  had  come.  I  rose  from  the 
table,  looked  suspiciously  all  about  and  listened. 
Then  rolling  my  precious  manuscript  into  the 
smallest  compass  possible,  I  went  over  to  the  bed 
with  it.  I  turned  up  the  mattress.  The  ticking 
was  none  too  strong  and  my  fingers  were  not  to  be 
denied.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  tearing  a  small  hole 
in  the  underside  of  the  mattress.  Then,  as  if  in 
a  panic  of  fear  lest  I  be  interrupted  too  soon,  I 
thrust  the  manuscript  through  the  hole,  put  the  bed 

22 


THE    AMBUSH 

to  rights,  crawled  back  into  it  and  pretended  to 
fall  asleep. 

Almost  immediately  I  heard  the  catlike  footfalls 
receding  down  the  corridor,  only  to  return  again 
frankly  and  noisily.  Dr.  Berry  entered  without 
waiting  for  my  invitation;  indeed,  I  gave  none. 
He  was  radiating  benign  good  humor  from  every 
pore. 

"  What,"  he  said,  "  in  bed  at  this  time  of  day? 
It  is  much  too  fine  for  that.  You  ought  to  be  up 
and  stirring,  walking  about  the  grounds." 

I  replied  sulkily  that  I  didn't  want  to.  His  eye 
lighted  up  a  little  at  that,  and  I  knew  I  had  him 
fairly  hooked. 

"  Come,"    he    said   brusquely,    "  no    nonsense 


now." 


And  then  he  called  an  order  to  the  guard  who 
stood  in  the  corridor,  that  he  should  bring  my 
clothes.  When  he  came  with  them — and  I  noticed 
with  joy  that  they  were  the  same  clothes  that  I  had 
worn  yesterday — I  sulkily  acquiesced  in  the  doc- 
tor's orders,  and  began  to  dress  myself. 

I  protested  against  his  staying  in  the  room  while 
I  did  it,  however.  I  said  I  didn't  need  any  help, 
and  would  let  them  know  when  I  was  ready.  He 
sent  the  guard  away  with  some  whispered  instruc- 
tions, whose  purport  I  was  to  understand  later,  but 
himself  remained  in  the  room. 

3  23 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  Now,  off  with  you,"  said  Dr.  Berry  good- 
humoredly,  when  my  hasty  toilet  was  completed, 
and  he  called  to  the  guard. 

"  Show  him  all  about  the  place.  Don't  bring 
him  back  for  an  hour.  This  air  will  be  just  the 
thing  for  him." 

Once  outside  the  building  with  the  guard  at  my 
elbow,  I  paused  for  just  an  instant  and  sent  up  an 
unspoken  prayer  of  thanksgiving.  I  was  clad 
again,  and  I  was  out  under  the  blue  sky;  and  on 
the  other  side  of  that  distant  wall  ran  a  highway 
that  led  to  freedom. 

Up  in  my  little  cell,  under  the  eaves,  the  doctor 
was  already  engrossed  with  my  laboriously 
scrawled  "  revelations."  They  would  keep  him 
busy  for  an  hour  at  least;  for  the  hour  that  I 
needed. 

I  turned  to  my  guard  and  smiled  a  little.  He 
was  a  burly,  low-browed  brute,  with  "  thug  "  writ- 
ten large  all  over  him ;  but  that  did  not  distress  me. 
It  was  man  to  man  between  us. 

He  made  no  objection  when  I  set  out  briskly 
across  the  lawn  in  the  direction  of  the  wood  and 
the  place  where  I  knew  the  wall  was.  I  noticed, 
though,  that  every  minute  or  two  he  cast  a  cau- 
tious glance  behind  him.  I  dared  not  look,  but 
looking  was  unnecessary.  It  could  not  have  been 
apprehension  that  made  him  look  back.  After  a 

24 


THE    AMBUSH 

moment's  thought  the  explanation  occurred  to  me. 
He  was  keeping  an  eye  on  his  reserves.  The  doc- 
tor's instructions  had,  no  doubt,  been  that  a  sec- 
ond man  should  follow  us  to  give  aid  to  my 
companion,  or  to  run  and  spread  the  alarm,  as  cir- 
cumstances might  indicate,  in  case  I  should  prove 
obstreperous. 

The  conclusion  did  not  seriously  disturb  me.  In 
my  present  state  of  exalted  confidence,  two  men 
were  hardly  more  seriously  to  be  feared  than  one. 
What  was  essential  to  my  plan  was  that  the  re- 
serves should  be  drawn  in.  The  second  man  must 
run  to  his  comrade's  aid,  and  not  to  headquarters, 
to  give  the  alarm.  It  would  take  a  little  maneu- 
vering, but  I  felt  sure  that  I  could  do  it. 

Walking  briskly,  and  not  attempting  to  disguise 
the  fact  that  I  was  evidently  going  somewhere, 
with  a  purpose,  I  entered  the  woods  which  grew 
alongside  the  wall.  Then,  instead  of  proceeding 
straight  toward  the  wall  itself,  I  deflected  the 
course  to  a  long  diagonal. 

I  saw  my  guard  give  a  little,  almost  Impercepti- 
ble jerk  of  his  head.  He  was  signaling  to  the  man 
behind  to  pass  us  on  the  outside  and  to  close  in 
a  little  ahead.  I  slackened  my  pace,  as  was  nat- 
ural, among  the  timber. 

My  guard  was  very  alert  and  quite  unable  to 
disguise  his  suspicion  that  I  was  about  to  make  an 

25 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

attempt  to  escape.  Secure  in  the  knowledge  that 
his  partner  was  just  ahead  of  us,  he  fell  a  pace  or 
two  behind  me,  partly  in  hope  of  encouraging  me 
to  make  my  dash  straight  into  the  ambush  the 
other  man  had  laid  for  me,  partly  to  prevent  my 
whirling  about  and  trying  to  make  off  in  the  op- 
posite direction. 

For  the  second  time  I  paused,  turned,  and 
looked  quite  frankly  at  my  guard,  and  smiled  a  lit- 
tle. I  doubt  somewhat  if  I  shall  ever  again  expe- 
rience so  keen  a  thrill  of  exactly  that  sort  of  joy. 
I  had  a  difficult  thing  to  do,  and  I  knew  I  should 
be  able  to  do  it. 

I  was  meeting  them  at  their  own  game.  There 
is  no  doubt  in  the  world  that  both  of  them  were 
hoping  that  I  would  make  exactly  the  attempt  I 
planned.  It  would  afford  an  excuse,  if  I  were  cap- 
tured, to  beat  me  insensible  and  put  me  in  hand- 
cuffs or  a  strait- jacket.  Unless  I  was  greatly 
mistaken,  my  guard's  free  hand,  half  closed,  was 
holding  the  leather-covered,  leaden  knob  of  a 
black-jack.  And  certainly  there  was  something 
hard  in  his  side  pocket  that  clanked  when  I  brushed 
against  it. 

I  decidedly  welcomed  this  state  of  affairs.  It 
would  have  been  hard  to  attack  a  kindly  disposed 
and  unsuspecting  man,  even  for  the  purpose  of 
gaining  my  liberty. 

26 


THE    AMBUSH 

Again  I  started  on,  affected  to  stumble  on  a 
root,  and  went  sprawling  forward.  That  ruse 
gave  me  just  the  added  distance  I  needed  from 
the  man  behind.  In  a  flash  I  was  on  my  feet 
again  and  rushing  straight  toward  the  other  man, 
who,  in  the  concealment  of  a  clump  of  bushes,  was 
waiting  for  me. 

When  he  sprang  from  his  hiding  place  and  con- 
fronted me,  armed  with  a  heavy  bludgeon,  I 
stopped  short,  just  out  of  striking  distance,  and 
stood  gazing,  as  if  stupefied,  straight  into  his  face. 

The  other  guard  was  coming  up  from  behind. 
Well,  that  was  what  I  meant  him  to  do.  I  waited, 
waited,  perhaps,  three  interminable  seconds,  until 
my  ears  told  me  that  the  man  who  was  stealing 
up  behind  had  come  close  enough. 

The  guard  who,  behind  my  defenseless  back, 
thought  he  had  me  at  his  mercy,  had  never  heard 
of  the  terrible  "  turning-kick "  of  the  French 
boxers.  Whirling  half  around  on  one  foot,  the 
whole  weight  of  my  body  and  the  momentum  of 
my  spring  behind  it,  I  sent  my  heavily  shod  heel 
crashing  against  the  side  of  his  head.  He  went 
down  like  a  ninepin. 

That  accounted  for  one ;  I  had  still  to  deal  with 
the  other. 

The  terror  in  this  man's  face  hinted  flight,  and 
I  could  afford  to  take  no  chance  of  that.  He  was 

27 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT  A   SHADOW 

strong  and  big,  and  there  was  something  to  be 
dreaded  from  his  cudgel,  no  doubt,  but  once  I 
could  get  inside  the  sweep  of  it,  I  knew  I  should 
be  safe  enough. 

I  moved  quietly  toward  him,  came  near  enough 
to  draw  a  blow,  a  whistling  sidewise  cut  that  I 
had  no  trouble  in  dodging  under.  Then  I  knew 
he  was  mine.  He  was  no  more  than  a  child  in  my 
hands,  and  in  a  moment  I  had  him  in  the  grip  of 
knee  and  elbow,  and  was  slowly,  remorselessly, 
bending  his  body  backward.  At  last,  with  a 
groan,  he  let  the  cudgel  slip  out  of  his  nerveless 
hands  and  sank  down,  half  fainting  with  pain  and 
terror,  at  my  feet. 

I  tossed  the  cudgel  away.  "  I  don't  need  that 
in  dealing  with  you,"  said  I.  "  I  could  kill  you 
with  my  hands  if  you  were  to  make  it  necessary. 
Lie  still  and  don't  attempt  to  cry  out,  or  I  will 
do  it." 

I  left  him  lying  there,  with  no  precaution 
whatever  further  than  keeping  the  corner  of  a 
watchful  eye  on  him,  and  bent  over  his  fellow-com- 
rade in  some  real  concern.  I  was  happy  to  dis- 
cover that  my  "  turning-kick "  had  struck  upon 
an  unusually  thick  head.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
limped  for  three  days  as  a  result  of  that  blow. 
But  the  man  on  whom  it  had  fallen  showed  signs 
of  coming  rapidly  to  his  senses. 

28 


THE    AMBUSH 

Satisfied  that  I  had  done  him  no  serious  dam- 
age, I  rapidly  explored  his  pockets.  They  con- 
tained a  pair  of  handcuffs,  just  as  I  had  expected; 
and  now  occurred  to  me  a  very  good  use  to  which 
they  could  be  put. 

I  glanced  swiftly  about  me,  and  in  a  moment 
found  the  thing  that  would  answer  my  purpose; 
a  root  to  an  oak  tree,  looping  up  out  of  the  ground, 
and  then  descending  into  it  again.  I  tugged  at 
it  and  satisfied  myself  that  it  would  hold. 

"  Carry  him  over  there,"  I  ordered  the  second 
guard.  He  was  still  half  dazed  and  wholly 
cowed,  and  did  as  I  said. 

"  Now,"  said  I  sharply,  "  stand  still  and  you 
won't  be  hurt." 

I  snapped  one  half  of  the  manacle  on  the  wrist 
of  the  fallen  man,  slid  the  other  one  under  the  root, 
and  before  he  quite  realized  what  had  happened, 
the  second  guard  was  fast  on  the  other  side. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction,  "  you 
will  be  comfortable  there  for  ever  so  long.  Have 
you  any  money?  If  you  have,  I  want  it.  Will 
you  get  it  out  yourself,  or  shall  I  search  you?  " 

He  blustered  a  little,  but  presently,  with  his  free 
hand,  pulled  out  of  his  trousers  pocket  what  I  am 
convinced  was  all  he  had,  three  dirty  one-dollar 
bills  and  some  small  change. 

"  What's  your  name?  "  I  asked. 
29 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  that  for?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  So  that  I  can  send  the  money  back,  of  course," 
said  I.  "  Did  you  think  I  was  a  pickpocket?  " 

He  told  me  his  name,  at  that;  and  I  will  say 
here  that  I  have  sent  him  his  money  and  I  imagine 
him  to  be  an  extremely  surprised  man. 

"  There,"  said  I,  "  I  am  much  obliged.  Now 
I  will  do  you  a  favor.  I  suppose  the  minute  I  get 
over  that  wall  you  mean  to  begin  to  shout  for  help. 
This  is  the  favor.  Don't  do  It.  Lie  still;  pretend 
you  are  as  unconscious  as  this  other  poor  beggar 
here.  Let  him  come  to  and  shout  for  help.  Then 
you  will  be  able  to  let  him  explain  to  Dr.  Berry 
how  it  all  happened.  You  have  a  chance  to  keep 
your  job  if  you  act  on  that  idea.  If  you  begin 
to  bawl  for  help  now,  your  job  here  will  last  you 
just  about  till  sundown." 

He  would  not  say  that  he  meant  to  take  my  ad- 
vice, and  I  had  to  scramble  over  the  wall  and  set 
out  on  the  highroad,  without  knowing  whether  the 
chase  was  to  be  hot  on  my  heels  or  not. 


CHAPTER    IV, 

MR.   DUGGLEBY 

IT  is,  I  suppose,  a  merciful  paradox  of  human 
nature  that  we  never  are  actually  in  the  depths 
of  despair  when  there  is  the  most  to  despair  about. 
I  had  faced  the  task  of  outwitting  a  clever  and 
perfectly  unscrupulous  villain,  and  of  overpower- 
ing two  of  his  hired  thugs,  with  the  most  buoy- 
ant confidence.  By  scrambling  over  the  wall  and 
stepping  out  on  the  highway,  a  free  man  for  the 
moment,  at  least,  I  had  given  proof  that  my  con- 
fidence was  not  ill  grounded. 

My  plan  had  succeeded  beyond  anything  I  could 
have  hoped,  the  surplus  being  represented  by  three 
soiled  dollar  bills  and  the  handful  of  change  in 
my  pocket,  and  by  the  probability  that  my  guard 
would  see  it  to  his  interest  to  take  my  advice  and 
give  me  a  clear  start. 

Certainly,  if  any  friendly  prophecy  could  have 
told  me  that  morning  when  I  had  wakened  naked 
and  helpless  after  my  drugged  sleep,  that  in  so  few 
hours  I  should  be  tramping  down  a  highroad, 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

free,  and  in  no  momentary  danger  of  pursuit,  I 
should  have  prophesied,  on  my  part,  that  my  soul 
would  have  been  singing  with  joy  as  I  walked 
along. 

The  truth  was,  however,  that  my  case  never  had 
seemed  so  hopeless  as  at  that  moment.  The  very 
appearance  of  freedom  that  I  had,  seemed  to  mock 
me.  So  long  as  I  had  remained  inside  that  wall, 
the  other  side  of  it  had  meant  liberty  to  me.  Now 
that  I  had  succeeded  in  scrambling  over,  the  whole 
affair  seemed  absurdly  easy,  while  my  present 
difficulties  loomed  mountain  high. 

After  all,  I  was  as  completely  a  prisoner  as  be- 
fore. I  was  as  far  from  knowing  who  or  where 
I  was  as  I  had  been  when  I  asked  the  question  of 
the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench.  Of  what 
lay  at  either  end  of  the  broad  ribbon  of  the  high- 
way where  I  stood,  I  was  as  ignorant  as  a  child 
of  three.  I  was  certain  to  be  pursued,  and  for  all 
I  knew,  the  pursuit  might  at  this  moment  be  upon 
my  heels. 

In  addition  to  all  that,  there  came  for  the  first 
time  to  my  mind  the  thought — faint,  remote,  like 
the  long-drawn  baying  note  of  a  distant  hound — 
that  possibly,  after  all,  I  was  mad!  I,  a  man 
without  a  memory,  a  man  who  believed  himself  to 
be  some  one  else,  he  knew  not  who!  It  might 
be  that  in  climbing  that  wall  and  setting  off 

32 


MR.    DUGGLEBY 

down  the  road,  I  was  escaping  from  friends, 
whom  nothing  but  my  own  delusions  had  turned 
to  enemies. 

The  terror  of  that  thought  had  a  salutary  effect. 
It  stung  me  into  life  and  action  again.  The  mere 
intrinsic  horror  of  it  brought  a  healthy  reaction 
of  feeling  in  its  wake.  I  took  a  coin  from  my 
pocket  and  sent  it  spinning  into  the  air. 

"  Up  the  road,  or  down?  "  I  questioned. 

"  Down,"  the  coin  decided  it.  I  slapped  it  back 
into  my  pocket,  and  set  off  obediently  at  a  brisk 
pace. 

It  was  hard,  once  I  had  started,  not  to  run,  but 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  my  best  chance  of 
escape  lay  in  remaining  as  inconspicuous  as  possi- 
ble. So  long  as  I  had  to  trust  my  legs  to  carry 
me  away,  I  would  walk  along  in  the  shade  like  any 
other  peaceful  citizen  out  for  an  afternoon  stroll. 

I  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  discovering  that 
my  coin  had  decided  right  for  me.  I  was  ap- 
proaching a  town,  and  a  town  was  what  I  wanted. 
It  was  at  towns  that  trains  stopped,  and  I  wanted 
a  train  that  would  carry  me  to  the  utmost  limit  of 
my  three  dollars. 

I  believe  that  this  particular  little  city,  whose 
outskirts  I  was  just  entering,  has  some  reputation 
for  beauty.  Indeed,  my  own  recollections  of  it 
include  beautiful  residences  and  the  grateful  shade 

33 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

of  renerable  trees ;  but  to  me  it  is,  and  I  imagine 
will  always  remain,  a  sort  of  nightmare. 

It  took  every  ounce  of  self-discipline  that  I 
could  bring  to  bear  to  keep  me  from  bolting  like 
a  frightened  rabbit  at  sight  of  the  first  man  who 
came  walking  toward  me  on  the  sidewalk.  I  had 
an  absurd  feeling  that  my  looks  must  infallibly 
betray  me  as  one  in  flight ;  more  than  that,  as  one 
in  flight  from  Dr.  Berry's  highly  respectable  in- 
stitution. 

When  I  had  succeeded  in  passing  that  man, 
without  his  stopping  and  saying  to  me,  "  Here, 
you,  come  back  with  me  to  Dr.  Berry,"  I  drew  a 
great  gasp  of  relief.  But  I  had  the  same  sen- 
sation of  terror,  and  only  a  little  milder,  for  every 
passer-by  I  met. 

The  windings  of  the  streets  confused  me;  yet 
I  dared  not  ask  my  way,  for  fear  of  betraying  my- 
self. If  I  were  to  summon  my  courage  to  the 
point  of  asking  some  one  to  direct  me  to  the  rail- 
way station,  I  should  be  quite  at  a  loss,  I  reflected, 
if  he  were  to  ask,  "  Which  station?  "  If  he  were 
to  supplement  that  query  by  asking  where  I  wanted 
to  go,  my  plight  would  be  desperate  indeed.  I 
had  not  the  name  of  a  single  town  in  my  mind. 
If  I  were  to  attempt  to  answer  my  inquiring  friend 
truthfully,  and  say  that  I  wanted  to  go  anywhere 
that  was  three  dollars'  worth  away  from  here,  I 

34 


MR.    DUGGLEBY 

should  offer  him  no  alternative  but  to  call  the  near- 
est policeman. 

For  a  while — I  have  no  means  of  estimating 
how  long — I  wandered  aimlessly  about,  now 
breaking  into  a  run,  and  then  checking  myself 
sharply  to  a  more  decorous  pace.  At  last,  when 
I  was  nearly  in  despair,  and  all  but  exhausted, 
I  found  myself  approaching  the  place  I  had  been 
looking  for. 

My  first  glance  about  me,  as  I  entered  the  men's 
waiting  room,  was  reassuring.  The  long  line  of 
men  before  the  ticket  window  was  evidence  that 
a  train  was  going  to  leave  for  somewhere  before 
very  long. 

I  took  my  place  in  the  line,  relying  on  what  I 
should  learn  between  there  and  the  window  for 
the  answer  I  was  to  make  when  the  agent  should 
say,  "Where?" 

The  conversation  between  the  two  men  immedi- 
ately in  front  of  me,  soon  gave  me  what  I  wanted. 

"How  much  is  the  fare,  anyway?"  said  one 
of  them. 

"  Round  trip  or  single?  "  inquired  the  other. 

"  Gracious !  "  said  the  first  man,  "  I  don't  want 
to  come  back.11 

This  was  evidently  a  joke,  for  they  both 
laughed.  The  man  who  knew  said: 

"  One  way  it  is  three  dollars  and  a  half." 
35 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

The  change  in  my  pocket  amounted  to  fifty-six 
cents.  My  destination  was  decided.  I  did  not  yet 
know  where  it  was,  but  the  man  just  in  front  of 
me  was  going  there,  and  the  cost  of  going  lay  just 
within  the  limit  of  my  worldly  wealth.  Whatever 
he  said  to  the  agent,  I  would  echo  when  my  turn 
came  at  the  window. 

There  were,  perhaps,  twenty  men  between  me 
and  the  window  when  I  stepped  into  line.  It  was 
moving  very  slowly  for  some  reason,  and  I  had 
not  got  more  than  a  quarter  of  the  way,  when  the 
door  by  which  I  had  entered  opened  with  a  bang 
from  the  propellin'g  thrust  of  some  one  in  a  hurry. 
We  all  looked  to  see  who  the  newcomer  was. 

The  rest  of  the  men  in  the  line  turned  back 
again  after  a  mere  glance.  The  person  who  had 
come  in  meant  nothing  to  them,  one  way  or  the 
other,  I  suppose.  But  as  for  me,  I  stood  rooted 
in  my  place  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare,  unable  even 
to  turn  my  face  away  under  the  numb  paralysis 
of  fear. 

The  man  was  Dr.  Berry! 

How  he  missed  seeing  my  pale,  terror-stricken 
face,  which  stared  straight  at  him,  I  do  not  know. 
Of  course  I  had  no  other  idea  at  the  time  than  that 
he  had  come  in  pursuit  of  me.  The  event  soon 
proved  me  wrong ;  proved  that  he  had  no  idea  that 
I  had  escaped.  Even  at  that  I  think  he  would 

36 


MR.    DUGGLEBY 

probably  have  seen  me,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
fact  that  I  was  standing  in  line.  For  the  eye  treats 
a  long  file  of  men,  waiting  as  we  were,  with  a  com- 
mon object,  not  as  a  series  of  individuals  at  all, 
but  simply  as  a  thing  which  will  require  a  given 
time  to  pass  a  certain  point. 

The  moment  his  glance  had  traveled  over  us 
without  lighting  on  me,  I  regained  my  nerve 
again;  turned  quickly  and  held  my  place  in  the 
line. 

Dr.  Berry  walked  straight  to  the  window  and 
spoke  to  the  agent,  over  the  head  of  the  man  who 
was  buying  a  ticket. 

"  Has  that  special  train  come  in  yet?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

I  could  not  hear  the  agent's  reply,  but  evidently 
it  was  to  the  effect  that  it  had  not. 

The  doctor  turned  away  from  the  window  with 
the  air  of  one  who,  after  a  great  hurry,  finds  that 
he  has  arrived  on  time.  He  still  showed  traces  of 
excitement,  however,  and  instead  of  settling  down 
to  wait  quietly,  paced  impatiently  back  and  forth 
the  length  of  the  waiting  room. 

He  passed  within  an  arm's  length  of  me  a  dozen 
times,  I  suppose,  and  his  eye  must  have  run  over 
me  in  my  place  in  line  fully  as  many  times  as  that, 
but  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere,  and  he  never 
looked. 

37 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

I  realized  that  my  danger  would  be  much 
greater  after  I  had  bought  my  ticket  and  had  be- 
come a  detached  individual  again  in  the  crowd 
that  was  waiting  for  the  gateman  to  open  the  door 
and  let  us  out  on  the  station  platform.  Well, 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  chance  it.  I  had 
taken  longer  chances  during  the  past  twenty-four 
hours,  when  it  came  to  that. 

The  man  in  front  of  me  had  reached  the  win- 
dow. He  laid  down  three  dollars  and  a  half,  and 
said,  "  New  York." 

The  sound  of  those  two  words  gave  me  an  im- 
mediate feeling  of  something  near  to  joy.  It  was 
a  place  that  I  knew ;  I  was  sure  of  that.  I  had  had 
no  conscious  knowledge  of  that  name  a  moment 
before,  but  the  mere  sound  of  it  lifted  a  little  of 
the  blank  from  off  my  past. 

I  shoved  my  own  money  under  the  grill,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  repeating  the  words  myself,  when 
the  agent,  without  a  glance  at  me,  craning  his  neck 
to  see  beyond  me,  called  aloud: 

II  Dr.  Berry." 

I  swayed  where  I  stood.  Had  I  been  able  to 
command  the  mere  physical  strength  for  such  an 
effort,  I  should  no  doubt  have  bolted;  but,  with 
my  knees  giving  way  under  me,  such  a  thing  was 
clearly  out  of  the  question. 

4  Yes  ?  "  said  the  doctor  interrogatively. 
38 


MR.    DUGGLEBY 

"  That  special  train  you  were  waiting  for  is  in," 
said  the  agent. 

"In  the  station  now?"  repeated  the  doctor 
angrily;  "  why  was  I  not  told?  " 

"  It  has  only  just  come  in,  sir,"  said  the  agent. 
Then  he  called  to  the  gate  keeper: 

"  Let  Dr.  Berry  out." 

The  doctor  was  shouldering  his  way  through 
the  crowd  to  the  door. 

"Where  did  you  say?"  said  the  agent  to 
me. 

"  New  York." 

The  words  were  only  a  whisper.  I  had  to  re- 
peat them  twice  before  he  heard.  Impatiently,  he 
slapped  down  a  ticket  before  me. 

The  gate  keeper  was  opening  the  door.  Dr. 
Berry  started  out,  then  stopped  short  in  the  door- 
way. A  man  coming  in  at  the  same  moment  al- 
most collided  with  him,  but  the  doctor  showed  no 
sign  of  anger. 

"  Mr.  Duggleby,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  very, 
very  glad  you  have  come !  " 

I  heard  the  name  and  saw  the  face  of  the  man 
addressed  as  Duggleby  all  in  the  same  instant. 
And  somehow  the  sight  and  sound  together 
seemed  to  ring  a  little  bell  of  recognition  away 
down  within  me. 

I  knew  the  name ;  I  knew  the  face.  A  shrewd, 
4  39 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

intelligent,  rather  cruel,  deeply  lined,  middle-aged 
face.    That  man  belonged  to  my  past. 

Somehow,  somewhere,  the  identity  of  the  man 
who  had  lost  himself,  the  man  who  lived  in  my 
body  and  thought  with  my  mind,  had  crossed  the 
path  of  this  formidable,  almost  sinister  figure  that 
stood  in  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   WOMAN   IN   THE   CAB 

THE  crowd  in  the  waiting  room  had  forced 
me  so  close,  that  either  the  doctor  or  Mr. 
Duggleby  could  have  touched  me  with  his  hands. 
Luckily  neither  dreamed  that  I  was  anywhere  but 
in  the  safe-keeping  of  the  two  bruisers  to  whose 
tender  mercies  I  had  been  turned  over.  But  I  had 
a  monopoly  of  their  thoughts;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that. 

"  It  was  utterly  unexpected,"  the  doctor  was 
saying,  "  his  coming  back  to  consciousness  that 
way.  I  really  got  a  fright  when  the  guard  brought 
me  the  news.  I  didn't  entirely  get  over  it  until  I 
learned  from  him  that,  by  some  queer  freak,  his 
memory  had  got  left  behind.  That  would  have 
been  serious,  and  even  as  things  stood,  I  thought 
it  well  to  send  for  you.  He  is  extraordinarily 
shrewd  in  a  way.  His  mind  seems  to  work  all 
the  quicker  for  not  having  any  memory  to  bal- 
last it." 

Mr.  Duggleby  frowned,  and  cast  a  quick  glance 
41 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

about  the  crowd,  which  made  me  duck  unceremo- 
niously. 

"  This  is  not  quite  the  place  to  talk  about  it," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  You  have  your  carriage 
here,  I  suppose?  " 

"  My  automobile  is  waiting,"  said  Dr.  Berry, 
and  a  moment  later  they  disappeared  through  the 
other  door. 

Then  the  train  we  had  been  waiting  for  came 
thundering  in.  It  was  something  of  a  relief  to  me 
to  learn  that  it  was  an  express.  A  man  who  could 
afford  to  charter  a  special  train  to  come  on  such 
an  errand  as  Mr.  Duggleby's,  was  undoubtedly  in 
command  of  a  large  machinery  which  would  be 
used  to  the  utmost  to  detect  my  whereabouts  and 
capture  me. 

Detectives  would,  in  all  probability,  be  waiting 
for  me  at  the  terminal,  but  I  thought  of  a  plan 
by  which  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  give  them  the  slip. 
Once  it  was  decided  upon,  I  leaned  comfortably 
back  in  my  seat  and  went  to  sleep. 

I  had  eaten  nothing  since  my  half-finished, 
opium-drugged  meal  the  night  before,  and  already 
the  afternoon  was  well  advanced.  Sleep  was  the 
best  substitute  for  food  that  I  could  get,  and,  curi- 
ously enough,  it  came  to  me  readily. 

I  waked,  as  it  happened,  none  too  soon.  The 
car  was  all  astir  with  the  preliminary  bustle  which 

42 


announced  the  expected  arrival  of  a  train  at  its 
terminal.  Already  we  were  jolting  over  the 
switches  in  the  yard. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet,  hurried  down  the  aisle,  and, 
in  defiance  of  the  protests  of  the  brakeman,  swung 
myself  off. 

The  air  was  alive  with  the  shriek  of  whistles 
and  the  clang  of  bells,  and  great  blinding  head- 
lights peered  this  way  and  that,  in  what  seemed  in- 
extricable confusion,  through  the  gathering  dusk. 

I  was  shouted  at,  cursed,  all  but  arrested  by  one 
irate  watchman,  who  must  have  thought  I  contem- 
plated suicide ;  and  I  had,  no  doubt,  a  good  many 
hairbreadth  escapes  that  I  know  nothing  about; 
but  I  emerged,  at  last,  into  the  comparative  quiet 
of  a  dingy,  ill-paved  street. 

I  had  no  idea  where  I  was  going;  that  is  to  say, 
the  man  who  was  only  a  little  over  twenty-four 
hours  old  had  no  idea,  but  I  walked  rapidly  on, 
with  perfect  confidence.  I  was  just  learning  the 
lesson  which,  in  the  next  few  days,  was  to  be  of 
such  inestimable  service  to  me,  namely,  that  I  am 
never  so  sure  of  going  right  as  when  I  have  given 
myself  over  completely  to  instinct.  When  I  do 
that,  I  have  a  comfortable  sense  that  the  man  I 
once  was — a  man  who  must  have  known  many 
aspects  of  the  world  wisely  and  well — is  in  charge. 

I  went  on  so  for  some  time,  turning  now  to  the 
43 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

right,  now  to  the  left,  never  under  a  moment's 
hesitation  as  to  my  true  course,  and  when,  at  last, 
I  found  myself  walking  along  another  railroad 
track  into  another  station,  I  knew  that  the  man  I 
once  was  had  guided  me  right. 

I  had  no  money  for  a  ferry  ticket,  but  an  arriv- 
ing throng  of  passengers  on  a  train  that  had  just 
pulled  into  the  station  saved  me  from  embarrass- 
ment on  that  head.  Deliberately,  and  quite  un- 
challenged, I  walked  under  a  sign  marked  "  Des- 
brosses  Street,"  and  out  upon  a  ferryboat. 

A  few  minutes  later  I  was  threading  my  way 
among  the  maze  of  streets  in  downtown  New 
York. 

The  first  stage  of  my  flight  was  at  an  end.  I 
was  perfectly  sure  that  I  had  eluded  direct  pursuit. 
No  stealthy  figure  was  tracking  my  steps  as  I 
made  my  way  toward  City  Hall  Park.  I  was  in 
one  of  the  finest  hiding  places  in  the  world,  a  great 
city. 

Yet  I  knew  that  a  moment  of  overconfidence 
and  a  single  careless  blunder  might  prove  fatal, 
even  now.  There  was  a  combination  of  two 
causes  that  led  me  to  drop  down  upon  a  bench 
in  the  crowded  little  square.  One  was  the  neces- 
sity I  felt  for  laying  out  a  plan  of  action,  and 
the  other,  the  sheer  exhaustion  of  hunger.  That 
was  really  a  great  danger. 

44 


THE    WOMAN    IN   THE    CAB 

My  enemies  had  no  doubt  learned  from  the 
guard  at  least  two  hours  ago  exactly  how  much! 
money  I  had  set  out  with.  If  they  were  as  shrewd 
as  I  believed  them  to  be,  they  would  have  in- 
ferred, with  reasonable  certainty,  that  I  had  come 
to  New  York.  At  any  rate,  they  would  know  if 
I  had  come  to  New  York,  that  I  had  arrived  pen- 
niless. Acting  on  that  chain  of  deductions,  they 
would  certainly  station  their  detectives  at  those 
points  where  a  half-starved  and  penniless  man 
might  be  expected  to  turn  up,  the  police  stations, 
the  hospitals,  and  the  relief  depots  of  the  Salva- 
tion Army. 

I  felt  pretty  sure  after  I  had  followed  that  line 
of  thought  to  the  end,  that  if  I  were  to  faint  from 
hunger  here  where  I  sat — and  I  knew  I  was  not 
far  from  it — that  act  would  mark  the  end  of  my 
brief  and  illusory  liberty.  I  must  get  food  at  once, 
and  get  it  without  begging  for  it. 

I  rose  somewhat  stiffly  from  my  bench,  and 
again  put  my  affairs  in  the  hands  of  the  unknown 
stranger,  myself — my  real  self,  I  mean — whose 
identity  it  was  my  task  to  seek.  There  was  a  cer- 
tain peril  in  this  proceeding,  I  was  aware.  My 
instincts  might  be  trusted  to  know  this  city,  I  was 
sure,  but  could  I  be  sure  they  would  not  take  me, 
like  a  homing  pigeon,  straight  back  into  the  very 
citadel  of  my  enemy? 

45 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

However,  that  danger  was  one  I  could  not 
possibly  avoid.  I  would  simply  hope  for  better 
luck. 

I  walked  northward,  past  the  bridge  terminal, 
and,  with  the  perfect  certainty  of  what  must  have 
been  old  acquaintance,  turned  to  the  right  and 
plunged  into  the  labyrinth  of  New  York's  lower 
East  Side.  I  walked  a  few  squares  and  stopped  in 
front  of  a  dingy  little  pawn  shop.  The  only  thing 
I  had  to  put  in  pawn  was  the  clothing  upon  my 
back,  but  that  was  of  fine  quality  and  perfectly 
new. 

The  pawnbroker  was  doing  a  rushing  business, 
and  I  had  a  few  moments  of  leisure  to  look  him 
over  before  he  could  attend  to  my  needs. 

He  was  a  rare  bird,  I  am  sure,  in  that  corner 
of  the  world,  anyway.  There  was  no  r  ski  "  on 
the  end  of  his  name,  I  knew  without  consulting  the 
sign.  There  was  nothing  Oriental  in  his  looks. 
His  nose,  in  absolute  defiance  of  precedent,  curved 
the  wrong  way,  into  an  uncompromising,  good- 
natured  pug.  In  a  word,  he  was  good  red  Irish, 
and  no  mistake  about  it. 

I  felt  pretty  sure  from  the  look  in  his  gray  eye 
when  he  finally  turned  it  upon  me,  that  he  knew 
me,  but  he  was  far  too  discreet  to  acknowledge 
it,  and  I,  under  the  circumstances,  dared  not  give 
him  a  lead,  dearly  as  I  wanted  to. 

46 


THE    WOMAN    IN    THE    CAB 

"  I  want  to  pawn  these  clothes,"  I  said,  when 
he  asked  me  what  he  could  do  for  me. 

"  All  of  them?  "  he  inquired,  with  a  twinkle. 

"  The  whole  outfit,"  I  assured  him. 

He  took  that  reply  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"  And  go  out  naked?  "  he  demanded.  "  Sure,  I 
couldn't  allow  that  myself." 

"  Oh,  there's  another  half  to  the  bargain,"  said 
I,  "  I  want  to  buy  some  others.  The  best  that  I 
can  get  that  will  still  leave  me  three  or  four  dol- 
lars to  boot  in  my  pocket." 

"You're  not  asking  much,  are  you?"  he  said 
satirically,  but  there  was  a  kindly  undertone  to  his 
voice  for  all  that.  "  Three  or  four  dollars !  What 
do  you  think  I  am  going  to  allow  you  on  them, 
to  say  nothing  of  what  you  will  wear  away?  Old 
clothes  is  old  clothes." 

"  These  are  not  old,  though,"  I  told  him. 
"  .You  can  sell  them  to  a  misfit  house  for  ten  dol- 
lars to-morrow.  The  clothes  you  will  give  me 
won't  have  cost  you  one.  There  is  a  hundred  per 
cent  profit.  That  ought  to  suit  you." 

I  surprised  myself  more  than  I  did  him  by 
my  assurance  in  bargaining  with  him.  If  I  were 
an  old  customer  of  his,  I  was  one  who  knew  the 
ropes. 

We  dickered  about  it  for  a  while,  and  presently 
I  secured  an  outfit  which  would  not  absolutely 

47 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

condemn  me  as  a  vagrant  at  first  glance,  and  two 
dollars  to  boot. 

"What  name?"  he  asked  when  the  bargain 
was  concluded. 

I  was  prepared  for  that  question. 

"  Andrew  Meiklejohn,"  I  said. 

He  shot  me  a  quick  look.  Evidently  it  was  not 
the  name  he  knew  me  by. 

"  And  the  address?  "  he  went  on. 

That  question  I  had  not  foreseen,  and  the  result 
was  that  I  answered  instinctively.  At  the  answer 
I  gave,  he  broke,  for  a  second  time,  into  a  full- 
mouthed  laugh.  On  second  thought  I  could  not 
wonder  at  it,  for  I  had  told  him  I  lived  at  the 
Holland  House. 

I  suppose  I  betrayed  some  confusion  in  the  mo- 
ment before  I  could  take  my  cue  from  him  and 
treat  my  reply  as  a  pleasantry. 

"  Getting  it  a  bit  mixed,  ain't  you?  "  he  asked. 

By  that  time  I  had  recovered  myself. 

"  Oh,  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  I. 

I  changed  my  clothes  and  walked  out  of  the 
shop.  My  legs  were  in  charge  again,  and  they 
took  me  straight  to  a  dingy  little  coffeehouse, 
where  I  ate  as,  I  am  willing  to  bet,  I  had  never 
eaten  before.  There  were  no  drugs  in  that  food, 
anyway. 

I  wonder  if  it  was  fate  that  took  charge  of  my 
48 


THE    WOMAN    IN    THE    CAB 

wanderings  after  I  left  that  little  coffeehouse.  It 
was  not  instinct,  not  that  well-informed  stranger — 
myself — who  had  led  me  so  unerringly  to  the 
good-humored  Irish  pawnbroker.  For  I  was  on 
the  track  now  of  a  discovery  which,  with  all  his 
knowledge  and  experience,  my  unknown  self  could 
never  have  foreseen. 

I  was  strolling  up  the  Bowery,  too  tired  to  think 
or  to  lay  my  plans,  forgetting  the  steady  job  which 
I  knew  would  be  the  only  guarantee  against  my 
falling,  within  a  day  or  two,  into  the  hands  of  my 
shrewd  and  relentless  enemies. 

I  suppose  I  took  the  Bowery  because  it  was 
pleasantly  crowded  with  people  who  looked  enough 
like  me  in  my  transformed  state  to  prevent  my 
being  conspicuous.  I  was  not  even  planning  where 
I  should  pass  the  night.  That  question  would 
solve  itself,  no  doubt,  in  an  hour  or  two.  For  the 
present  I  was,  perhaps,  the  most  utterly  idle,  pur- 
poseless waif  on  all  that  crowded  thoroughfare. 

I  was  strolling  north  on  the  west  side  of  the 
street,  and  had  no  recollection  of  how  far  I  had 
gone,  when,  after  dodging  across  one  of  the 
broader  east  and  west  streets — it  may  have  been 
Grand,  though  I  hardly  think  I  had  gone  so  far — 
I  paused  on  the  north  curb.  There  was  a  little 
huddle  of  vehicles  there,  delayed  for  a  moment 
to  let  the  stream  of  crosstown  traffic  go  by,  and 

49 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

conspicuous  among  them  by  its  comparative  rarity 
in  that  neighborhood,  was  a  large,  private,  electric 
hansom. 

My  eye  rested  on  it,  as  it  had  rested  on  the 
others,  listless,  indifferent,  but  in  the  space  of  that 
single  glance  the  face  of  the  whole  world  changed. 
My  heart  stopped  dead  still.  Then,  at  the  end 
of  a  suffocating  second,  it  leaped  forward  again 
madly. 

The  interior  of  the  carriage  was  brightly 
lighted,  and  in  the  oval  window  I  saw  a  woman's 
profile.  Even  now,  when  the  memory  of  it  is  a 
week  old,  I  can  hardly  command  my  pen  to  de- 
scribe it  sanely.  A  small  head,  delicately  erect,  a 
mass  of  lustrous  black  hair  which  curved  up  under 
her  small  black  hat  in  a  line  unbroken  by  any  stray 
locks ;  a  face  rather  pale,  and  in  its  detail  of  nos- 
tril, lips,  and  chin  wonderfully  finely  chiseled. 
The  eyes,  under  their  fine,  even  brows,  and  in  the 
shadow  of  their  long,  curving  lashes,  were  lumi- 
nous, frank,  steadfast,  but  they  had,  or  at  least  I 
fancied  they  had,  as  I  recalled  the  moment,  later, 
a  hint  of  tragedy  in  them. 

And  I,  on  the  curb,  a  homeless  and  all  but 
hopeless  vagrant,  stood  staring  through  that  little 
oval  window,  spellbound. 

The  face  was  the  face  of  the  woman  of  my, 
dreams! 

50 


CHAPTER   VI 

LOST 

THE  cab  had  started  on  again,  and  it  was, 
perhaps,  halfway  down  the  next  block 
before  I  had  recovered  from  the  daze  into  which 
the  sight  of  her  had  thrown  me. 

Then,  stifling  back  the  outcry  that  rose  to  my 
lips,  I  set  out  in  mad  pursuit,  running,  dodging  in 
and  out  among  the  vehicles,  like  a  man  demented. 

Even  at  my  best  speed,  of  course  the  electric 
carriage  kept  leaving  me  farther  and  farther  be- 
hind. I  thought  I  had  lost  her,  but  at  that  mo- 
ment a  trolley  car  came  flying  along,  its  motors 
screaming  with  the  stress  of  full  speed.  It  was 
a  distinctly  hazardous  proceeding  to  attempt  to 
board  it  thus  in  full  flight,  but  I  made  it  without 
the  least  hesitation.  I  should  have  attempted  to 
jump  aboard  an  express  train  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances. 

More  by  luck  than  anything  else,  I  succeeded 
in  scrambling  up  onto  the  running  board  and  into 
the  car,  sustaining  no  more  serious  damage  than 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

a  painful  wrench  to  my  arms  and  whatever  shock 
my  feelings  may  have  suffered  under  the  impreca- 
tions of  the  conductor,  who  assured  me  that  I 
deserved  to  have  been  killed.  I  paid  him  my  fare, 
and  then  leaned  out  to  look  ahead.  We  were 
rapidly  overtaking  the  hansom. 

Once  we  ran  alongside,  and  this  time  I  noticed 
that  the  lady  of  my  dreams  was  not  alone  in  the 
carriage.  A  young  man  was  sitting  beside  her,  a 
very  smartly  turned  out  young  gentleman,  of 
somewhere  about  my  own  age.  He  was  good- 
looking,  in  the  loose  sense  in  which  that  term  is 
used,  but  he  did  not  look  very  good. 

The  expression  on  his  well-made  features  was 
distinctly  cynical  and  almost  saturnine.  If  he  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  me,  straining  out  from  my 
seat  in  the  trolley  car  that  I  might  gaze  to  advan- 
tage on  the  wonderful  face  of  the  girl  who  sat 
beside  him,  and  could  have  known  the  feelings 
with  which  I  was  looknig  at  it,  how  he  would 
have  laughed!  Or  would  he,  I  wonder?  Per- 
haps his  expression  would  have  been  grimmer 
than  that. 

The  hansom  was  delayed  by  some  slowly  mov- 
ing vehicle  in  front,  and  our  car  darted  ahead,  they 
turning  in  behind  us  on  the  track.  We  were  near- 
ing  the  bridge  terminal  where  my  car  stopped,  and 
I,  fancying  they  would  turn  west  toward  one  of 

52 


LOST 

the  downtown  ferry  stations,  feared  I  was  going 
to  lose  them. 

To  my  relief,  and  equally  to  my  surprise,  the 
hansom  stopped  at  the  curb  only  a  few  paces  away 
from  the  terminal  itself.  I  slipped  off  the  car  and 
made  my  way  back  toward  it.  I  came  up  well 
within  earshot  before  I  stopped.  If  it  was  dishon- 
orable to  listen  to  their  conversation,  well,  be  the 
dishonor  on  my  own  head. 

He  seemed  to  be  protesting  against  her  leaving 
the  vehicle.  "  Really,  it  is  absurd,  you  know,"  he 
said,  "  that  I  should  put  you  down  here  and  leave 
you  to  make  your  way  alone  through  all  that  crush. 
At  least,  let  me  take  you  across  the  bridge.  Then 
I  will  let  you  go  wherever  you  like,  and,  on  my 
word  of  honor,  I  will  make  no  attempt  to  follow." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  rising  decisively,  as  if  to 
put  an  end  to  his  persistence ;  "  it  is  a  compromise 
as  it  is,  you  know,  and,  really,  I  can't  let  you  come 
any  farther." 

He  rose  without  any  further  insistence  and 
helped  her  down  to  the  curb. 

"  I  am  sorry  it  has  all  turned  out  to  be  so  fu- 
tile," he  said.  "  I  didn't  know  myself  that  father 
had  gone  until  just  a  few  minutes  before  you  came, 
and  I  had  no  means  of  letting  you  know.  I  am 
sure  he  would  not  have  broken  the  appointment 
if  he  could  have  helped  it.  I  don't  know  what  it 

53 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

was  that  called  him  away;  his  message  only  said 
that  he  had  had  some  disquieting  news  and  had 
been  obliged  to  go  down  into  New  Jersey  for  a 
day  or  two.  I  know  he  took  a  special  train,  so  you 
may  be  sure  it  was  important." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  perfectly,"  she  said.  "  Two 
or  three  days  don't  matter  much  after  all  these 
months." 

The  words  evidently  meant  more  to  the  young 
man  than  appeared  on  the  surface. 

"  You  must  not  think  too  badly  of  us,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  wonder  that  your  father  is  suspicious. 
Inventors  are  nearly  all  like  that.  It  is  not  a  bit 
surprising  that  he  should  go  off  and  hide  him- 
self and  not  let  us  know  his  address.  But  you 
must  not  share  those  suspicions  yourself.  That 
would  be  too  absurd.  Come,  just  to  show  there 
is  no  ill  feeling,  let  me  take  you  home.  I  won't 
look  where  we  are  going,  and  you  need  not  tell 
your  father  I  did  it,  so  where  would  be  the 
harm?" 

'  That's  quite  out  of  the  question,"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  had  a  cutting  edge  to  it.  "  Good 
night,  Mr.  Duggleby." 

I  think  my  memory  must  be  trying  to  make  up 
to  me  for  all  the  wrong  it  has  done  by  being  ex- 
ceptionally vivid  and  accurate  regarding  the  mi- 
nute details  of  these  days  that  have  passed  since 

54 


LOST 

I  recovered  my  consciousness.  If  it  had  not  been 
so,  I  should  never  have  been  able  to  remember  that 
conversation,  for  my  mind,  until  the  very  last 
word  of  it,  was  hardly  upon  it  at  all. 

What  I  was  thinking  of  as  I  skulked  there  in 
the  shadow,  was  the  question,  what  course  I 
should  take  when  the  other  man  had  left  her. 

There  she  stood,  the  woman  I  had  said  I  would 
search  the  world  to  find.  There  was  the  face  that 
had  come  in  my  dreams;  that  had  encouraged  me 
through  every  perilous  moment  during  my  escape 
from  the  asylum ;  and  in  my  dreams,  when  she  had 
looked  at  me  from  under  the  shadow  of  those 
curving  lashes,  there  had  been  love  in  her  eyes. 

Would  they  brighten  with  the  same  fire  now  if 
I  were  to  stand  before  her,  demanding  recogni- 
tion? The  thing  seemed  absurd  when  I  thought 
of  the  difference  between  us.  She,  standing  there 
beside  the  electric  hansom  from  which  she  had 
just  dismounted,  clad  in  that  beautiful  tailored 
simplicity,  and  patrician  in  every  line  of  her;  and 
I,  the  shabby,  penniless  scarecrow  which  the  events 
of  the  last  twenty-four  hours  had  reduced  me  to, 
shuffling  off  a  few  paces  in  the  dark  to  avoid 
being  moved  on  by  the  suspicious  policeman  who 
already  had  his  eye  on  me. 

My  unknown  self  had  been  a  gentleman, 
whether  she  knew  him  or  not,  and  it  seemed 
5  55 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

rather  cruel  to  him,  as  well  as  to  her,  to  present  to 
her  this  travesty  on  him.  Still,  my  overwhelming 
eagerness  kept  me  in  doubt,  held  my  decision  trem- 
bling in  the  balance,  until  the  utterance  of  that  last 
word,  the  name  of  "  Duggleby." 

I  shrank  back  at  it,  perfectly  instinctively,  and 
for  a  few  seconds  my  mind  raced  at  lightning 
speed. 

There  had  been  more  than  coldness  in  her  man- 
ner toward  him;  there  had  been  dread.  He  was 
her  enemy  as  well  as  mine.  Yet,  in  my  present 
state,  the  discovery  of  who  I  was  would  put  an 
added  burden  upon  her,  and  I  should  be  no  better 
than  a  coward  if  I  were  to  ask  her  to  assume  it. 

There  was  comfort  in  the  discovery,  though. 
Her  use  of  that  man's  name  convinced  me  that 
my  dreams  had  not  lied  to  me.  I  was  sure  that  if 
I  were  to  go  to  her  and  say,  "  I  am  in  flight.  I 
have  just  escaped  from  the  asylum  where  Mr. 
Duggleby  has  had  me  shut  up  and  from  which 
he  meant  I  never  should  escape,"  just  those  words, 
and  no  more,  I  should  see  a  flush  of  recognition 
coloring  that  pale  face,  and  should  feel  the  clasp 
of  two  friendly  hands,  friendly,  if  no  more  than 
that.  Yes,  there  was  comfort  in  that  thought  at 
least. 

I  had  let  her  walk  past  me  and  get  halfway  up 
the  stairs  to  the  elevated  platform,  before  it  oc- 

56 


LOST 

curred  to  me  that  though  I  could  not  call  on  her 
for  help,  I  might,  at  least,  try  to  learn  the  secret 
which  was  denied  to  the  Dugglebys.  I  could  fol- 
low her  home,  and  then  when  I  was  in  a  position 
to  bring  help,  not  to  ask  it,  I  should  know  where 
to  find  her. 

I  rushed  up  the  steps,  two  at  a  time,  but  she  had 
been  walking  briskly,  and  I  did  not  immediately 
overtake  her.  The  train  was  standing  at  the  plat- 
form, ready  to  depart,  and  all  I  saw  was  the  dis- 
appearing flash  of  her  skirt  as  she  entered  it. 

I  had  no  time  to  reach  the  platform  of  the  car 
she  had  entered,  only  barely  succeeded,  in  fact,  in 
squeezing  past  the  closing  gate  of  the  car  nearest 
me.  I  made  my  way  through  the  train  as  rapidly 
as  its  crowded  condition  would  permit,  forward  to 
the  foremost  end  of  the  front  car,  and  then  all  the 
way  back  again,  scrutinizing  every  face.  It  was  a 
long  time  before  I  would  admit  to  myself  the  pos- 
sibility that  I  had  been  mistaken,  but  at  last  the 
fact  became  so  evident  as  to  be  beyond  denial. 

Heartsick,  I  sank  into  the  nearest  seat.  My  eyes 
had  played  me  false.  I  had  taken  the  wrong  train. 
I  had  lost  her! 


CHAPTER    VII 

I    GET   A   JOB 

IT  struck  me  that  fate  had  played  a  rather  grim 
joke  on  me,  when  I  discovered  that  the  des- 
tination of  the  train  I  had  taken  was  Coney  Island. 
While  I  sat  there,  heartsick  that  the  little  gleam 
of  hope  which  for  a  moment  should  have  been 
vouchsafed  me  had  been  so  quickly  extinguished, 
I  was  listening,  involuntarily  and  wholly  auto- 
matically, to  the  jokes,  the  giggles,  the  light- 
hearted  and  rather  empty-headed  merriment  of  a 
crowd  of  people  who  could  apparently  be  made 
perfectly  happy  by  the  simple  process  of  shooting 
the  chutes  or  taking  a  ride  on  the  scenic  railway. 

Why  I  did  not  get  off  the  train  and  take  another 
back  to  New  York,  I  hardly  know.  Probably  be- 
cause I  simply  lacked  the  initiative  and  the  energy 
to  do  anything;  or,  perhaps,  again,  it  was  what  we 
call  "  fate  "  that  had  the  matter  in  charge. 

At  any  rate,  I  did  not  move  from  my  seat  until 
the  train  had  made  its  last  stop.  Then  I  drifted 
out  with  the  crowd  and  was  caught  in  the  great 

58 


I    GET   A   JOB 

current  that  flowed  and  eddied  and  swirled,  but 
never  stagnated,  along  that  remarkable  thorough- 
fare known  as  Surf  Avenue. 

But  none  of  all  its  well-assorted  wonders  had 
any  power  to  divert  or  amuse  me,  even  for  a 
moment.  Presently,  to  escape  from  the  blare  and 
the  glare  of  it,  I  found  my  way  down  to  the  beach. 

I  did  not  find  solitude  even  here,  but  there  was 
a  good  surf  rolling  in,  and  its  thunderous  dia- 
pason drowned  out  the  strident  human  noises 
which  had  disturbed  me.  Under  its  influence  the 
mad  circular  whirl  of  my  thoughts,  which  I  feared 
would  drive  me  mad,  if  I  were  not  indeed  mad 
already,  was  quieted. 

One  by  one — or  two  by  two,  to  put  it  more  ac- 
curately— the  strollers  who  had  shared  the  beach 
with  me  went  their  ways,  packed  themselves  into 
clanking  trains  or  noisy  excursion  steamers,  and 
sought  their  homes. 

That  strip  of  sand,  with  the  great  combers 
creaming  up  beyond,  was  all  the  home  I  had,  and 
at  last  I  had  it  to  myself.  With  the  solitude  came 
sleep,  the  heavy  sleep  of  complete  exhaustion. 

In  my  former  state,  as  I  am  coming  to  think,  I 
must  have  been  a  vagrant  indeed,  or  else  a  million- 
aire. When  I  wakened  the  next  morning,  and 
pretty  well  on  in  the  morning  it  must  have  been, 
judging  by  the  height  of  the  sun,  I  was  not  in  the 

59 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

least  distressed  by  the  fact  that  I  had  only  very 
little  more  than  a  dollar  in  the  world,  and  no 
notion  in  the  world  how  I  was  going  to  earn  an- 
other. 

I  stretched  myself,  shook  the  sand  out  of  my 
hair,  and  then  proceeded  to  invest  nearly  one 
fourth  of  my  worldly  wealth  in  the  luxury  of  a 
sea  bath.  The  attendant  at  the  bathing  house 
looked  at  me  curiously,  and  I  don't  wonder,  for 
the  experience  of  encountering  a  tatterdemalion 
figure  like  mine  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  at 
Coney  Island,  wanting  to  spend  twenty-five  cents 
for  the  rental  of  a  bathing  suit,  must  have  been 
rare,  if  not,  indeed,  unique. 

It  was  no  extravagance  for  me,  however;  per- 
haps it  was  the  most  sensible  investment  I  could 
have  made.  I  found  I  was  a  good  swimmer,  and 
the  experience  of  battling  with  those  heavy  surges 
effectually  washed  away  the  doubts,  fears,  and  dis- 
appointments which  had  threatened  to  paralyze 
my  energy,  and  left  me  my  own  man  again. 

When  it  was  over,  when  refreshed  in  mind  and 
body,  I  resumed,  though  somewhat  ruefully,  the 
outfit  of  clothing  which  my  friend  O'Brien  had 
provided  me  with,  I  still  had  the  price  of  a  break- 
fast in  my  pocket.  What  more  could  a  man  ask? 

But  Surf  Avenue,  as  I  soon  found,  is  rarely 
called  upon  to  supply  a  casual  wayfarer  with 

60 


I    GET   A   JOB 

breakfast.  It  was  almost  deserted,  and  I  had  to 
walk  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  before  finding  a 
place  that  appeared  to  be  open  for  business. 

The  one  I  came  upon  at  last,  a  sort  of  combina- 
tion concert-hall  saloon,  was  just  opening  up.  An 
extremely  dirty,  blear-eyed  waiter  was  wiping  off 
the  sticky  tops  of  the  iron  tables  with  a  very  ques- 
tionable-looking mop. 

The  room  was  a  large  one.  It  contained,  per- 
haps, two  hundred  tables.  At  the  farther  end  of 
it,  a  gaudily  painted  and  indescribably  shabby 
proscenium  arch  and  drop  curtain  proclaimed  the 
existence  of  a  stage.  An  upright  piano  stood  be- 
fore the  center  of  it,  and  a  battered  bass  viol  and 
a  drum  with  cymbals  attached,  hinted  at  the  ex- 
istence of  an  orchestra.  The  whole  place  reeked 
indescribably  with  the  remains  of  the  orgy  of  the 
night  before. 

But  for  the  vivifying  preparation  of  a  sea  bath, 
I  could  not  have  thought  of  breakfasting  there. 
Luckily,  however,  I  was  in  no  critical  mood. 

I  approached  the  waiter:  "  Can  I  get  some  ham 
and  eggs  and  a  cup  of  coffee  here?  "  I  asked. 

He  eyed  me  with  mingled  reluctance  and  sus- 
picion. 

"  Yaas,"  he  said  in  beery  accents,  "  I  subbose 
you  can  if  you  have  got  the  brice." 

"  Go  ahead  and  order  it,  then,"  said  I,  and  I 
6l 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

suppose  that  my  manner  must  have  carried  convic- 
tion, though  my  appearance  did  not,  for  without 
further  demur  he  walked  away  and  disappeared 
through  a  greasy  door  which  I  supposed  led  to  the 
kitchen. 

The  quality  of  the  food  when  it  came,  after 
considerable  delay,  was  much  better  than  appear- 
ances had  led  me  to  expect,  and  I  cleared  my 
platter  with  enthusiasm. 

When  I  had  finished,  however,  I  was  still  con- 
scious of  a  lack  of  something,  and  it  was  rather 
puzzling  to  know  what  it  could  be.  I  was  no 
longer  hungry,  but  I  certainly  felt  that  my  break- 
fast had  been  incomplete.  The  waiter  himself 
unconsciously  gave  me  the  cue  by  lighting  up  the 
stump  of  a  half-unwrapped  cigar.  That  was  it. 
I  wanted  to  smoke.  It  was  simply  another  little 
piece  in  the  mosaic  I  was  constructing  of  the  iden- 
tity of  myself,  and  I  welcomed  it  accordingly. 
I  paid  for  my  breakfast,  and  bought  a  cigar,  which 
reduced  my  worldly  capital  to  a  few  odd  dimes 
and  nickels. 

Well,  it  was  high  time  that  I  should  be 
doing  something.  I  ought  to  be  back  in  New 
York  at  this  moment  hunting  a  job.  The  reason 
I  did  not  go  was  simply  that  the  instinctive  man 
in  me — the  man  who  had  just  demanded  a  smoke 
— was  still  in  clamorous  rebellion,  and  what  he 

62 


I    GET   A   JOB 

was  pointing  toward  now  was  the  battle-scarred 
piano  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 

"  It's  utterly  absurd,"  I  told  myself.  "  What 
if  you  can  play  the  piano,  is  this  the  time  and  place 
to  try  it?" 

Yet  he  had  led  me  right  before,  and  perhaps  he 
deserved  some  concessions.  The  waiter  was  still 
lingering  near  my  table.  I  pushed  fifteen  cents 
toward  him.  Then  leaving  him  stupefied  with  as- 
tonishment, I  deliberately  walked  down  the  hall, 
seated  myself  before  the  piano  and  began  to 
play. 

I  had  no  idea  what  I  was  playing,  but  I  knew 
that  the  row  of  white  and  black  ivories  beneath 
my  fingers  accepted  me  submissively  as  their 
master. 

I  don't  know  how  much  later  it  was,  probably 
not  more  than  four  or  five  minutes,  when  the 
sound  of  heavy  breathing  at  my  elbow  caused 
me  to  look  around.  It  was  the  waiter,  but  the 
waiter  strangely  transformed.  His  eyes  were 
shining  with  excitement;  there  were  tears  in 
them. 

"  Play  that  once  more,"  he  said,  though  his  lips 
were  trembling  so  that  he  could  scarcely  command 
the  utterance. 

"  What  was  it  I  played?  "  I  asked,  and  then  by 
way  of  explaining  the  apparent  folly  of  the  ques- 

63 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

tion,  added:  "  I  was  thinking  of  something  else, 
and  really  don't  know  myself." 

"  That  wonderful  second  variation,"  he  said, 
"  I  haven't  heard  it — "  and  then  he  trailed  off  into 
a  jargon  of  speech  in  a  language  which  I  instinc- 
tively called  German,  but  could  not  understand. 

His  words  were  enough,  however,  to  recall 
what  I  had  been  playing,  and  as  I  proceeded  to 
obey  him,  the  name  Beethoven,  and  the  opus 
number  of  the  sonata  came  clearly  back  to  my 
mind.  I  played  on  and  on  in  a  sort  of  daze.  The 
past  was  opening  up  behind  me  so  rapidly;  such 
a  horde  of  names  and  melodies,  and  strange  un- 
classified associations  came  pouring  in  on  me,  that 
it  is  no  wonder  that  I  was  bewildered. 

The  necessity  for  going  out  and  finding  a  job 
was  forgotten.  I  had  forgotten  where  I  was.  I 
only  knew  that  my  old  unknown  self  was  awaken- 
ing, was  busy  with  his  memories,  was  wandering 
in  the  labyrinth  of  the  past.  Ah,  if  he  could  but 
find  his  way  out! 

The  sound  of  footsteps  recalled  me  to  the  pres- 
ent. My  waiter  was  approaching  in  company  with 
another  man,  a  stocky,  low-browed  person,  with 
a  red  face,  a  long,  well-oiled  mustache,  and  what 
passed  for  a  diamond  in  an  expanse  of  very  dirty 
shirt  front. 

He  did  not  speak  to  me  at  once,  but  began  rum- 
64 


I    GET   A   JOB 

aging  through  a  heap  of  soiled  and  shabby  music 
sheets  which  lay  on  the  piano.  Presently  he  found 
what  he  wanted,  and  spread  it  open  before  me  on 
the  rack. 

"  Play  that,"  he  said. 

I  glanced  at  it  indifferently.  It  appeared  to  be 
a  stupid  and  rather  inane  composition,  in  highly 
syncopated  time. 

'  You  really  want  to  hear  it?  "  I  asked. 

He  stared  at  me. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  hear  it,"  he  said,  "  I  want 
to  hear  if  you  can  play  it.  This  waiter  here  he 
came  to  me  and  nearly  throwed  a  fit  about  how 
you  could  bang  the  box.  If  you  can  rattle  off  that 
rag,  you'll  do." 

"  I  get  the  idea,"  said  I;  "you  want  to  see  if 
I  can  play  it." 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  see." 

For  a  moment  my  mind  worked  fast.  Obvi- 
ously here  was  a  chance  for  a  job.  But  such  a  job ! 
Yet,  I  reflected,  what  chance  had  I  for  anything 
better?  Where  could  I  get  employment,  except  in 
some  such  way  as  this,  without  accounting  for 
myself;  telling  who  I  was,  where  I  came  from, 
what  previous  employment  I  had  had?  I  might 
be  able  to  invent  a  past,  perhaps,  but  I  could  not 
forge  references.  On  the  other  hand,  the  piano 
seemed  to  offer  me  a  key  that  might  serve  to  pick 

6s 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

the  lock  of  my  mystery.  In  a  moment  I  had  taken 
my  decision. 

"  I  get  a  job,  then,  if  I  can  play  this?  "  I  asked. 

"  That's  what  I  am  telling  you,"  he  said  im- 
patiently. "  It  ain't  the  regular  job,  though,  you 
understand.  You're  to  spell  off  the  other  fellow 
between  shows." 

"  W«ll  and  good,"  said  I. 

Then,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  I  decided 
to  dazzle  him  a  little.  I  ran  my  eye  over  the 
wretched  composition  on  the  rack  before  me,  closed 
it  and  tossed  it  back  on  top  of  the  piano.  I 
checked  his  profane  exclamation,  with  upraised 
hand. 

"  Listen,"  said  I;  and  then  I  played  it  through; 
played  it,  I  am  moderately  sure,  as  that  particular 
piece  of  claptrap  had  never  been  played  before. 

He  listened,  his  eyes  fairly  starting  out  of  his 
head,  until  I  had  finished.  Then  what  he  took 
to  be  the  true  explanation,  occurred  to  him. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "you  can't  work  that  on  me; 
you  know  it." 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  have  never  seen  it  before, 
or  heard  it,  for  that  matter." 

The  waiter  was  nodding  his  head  in  solemn 
wonder.  I  turned  to  him  for  confirmation. 

'*  The  melody  was  stolen  from  '  The  Blue 
Danube,'  '  I  explained,  "  and  the  harmonies 

66 


I    GET   A   JOB 

amount  to  nothing.  Any  man  who  knew  his  busi- 
ness could  do  as  much.  Isn't  that  so?  " 

But  the  waiter  was  beyond  words.  He  just 
went  on  nodding  his  head  portentously. 

I  also  detected  signs  of  excitement  in  the  pro- 
prietor. He  made  me  play  a  dozen  different 
pieces,  not,  toward  the  end,  so  much  to  try  my 
powers,  as  to  confirm  his  growing  belief  that  he 
had  made  a  great  find. 

"  You  go  on  the  regular  show,"  he  said,  after 
our  impromptu  musicale  had  lasted  some  little 
time.  '  You  have  got  the  other  fellow  skinned 
alive." 

That  would  have  been  satisfactory  had  he 
stopped  there,  but,  as  it  happened,  in  the  rather 
listless  amusement  of  astonishing  him,  I  had  gone 
somewhat  too  far.  I  realized  this  when  I  found 
him  considering  the  project  of  putting  me,  not  in 
his  orchestra,  but  on  the  stage,  billed  as  a  great 
discovery,  "  The  Tramp  Pianist." 

I  tried  to  argue  him  out  of  this  idea,  but  my 
remonstrances  made  him  all  the  more  determined. 

"  What're  you  beefin'  about?"  he  demanded. 
'  You'll  get  three  times  as  much  in  your  pay  en- 
velope, and  then,  maybe,  one  of  those  wise  guys 
from  old  Broadway  will  come  dropping  in  here, 
and  the  first  thing  you  know,  you  will  be  drawing 
a  hundred  a  week  at  Keith  &  Proctor's.  Didn't 

67 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

you  never  hear  of  Nettie,  the  Lady  Barytone? 
She  got  her  start  singing  for  me." 

His  view  of  the  matter  left  me  in  a  rather  seri- 
ous quandary.  He  had  not  quite  the  eye  or  the 
bearing  of  a  man  upon  whose  candid  good  faith 
one  could  rely  implicitly.  If  I  were  even  to  hint 
to  him  that  there  were  reasons  why  I  was  anxious 
to  avoid  attracting  attention,  he  would  probably 
not  be  above  using  the  hold  upon  me  which  this 
knowledge  gave  him  to  reduce  me  to  a  position  of 
daily  slavery  and  terror. 

Already  he  was  looking  at  me  curiously,  and  I 
could  see  a  gleam  of  suspicion  as  to  the  cause  of 
my  hesitancy  alight  in  his  eye. 

Then  suddenly  the  solution  of  the  problem  oc- 
curred to  me.  It  was  so  easy  and  so  obvious  that 
I  almost  laughed  aloud. 

"  See  here,"  I  said,  taking  him  confidentially 
by  the  elbow  and  drawing  him  off  a  little  out  of 
hearing  of  the  waiter,  "  you  don't  recognize  me, 
do  you?  "  , 

He  looked  a  little  startled. 

"  Well,  that's  not  remarkable,"  I  went  on,  "  be- 
cause I  am  pretty  well  disguised.  I  would  not  tell 
it  to  anybody  else,  but  I  am  really  the  Czar  of 
Russia.  Now  if  you  put  me  up  on  that  stage  with 
my  face  to  the  audience,  some  of  those  nihilists 

around  here " 

68 


I    GET   A   JOB 

I  broke  off  here  and  glanced  cautiously  at  the 
waiter. 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  is  one?  "  I  asked.  "  Do 
you  suppose  he  is  a  spy?  " 

I  could  see  by  his  eyes  that  the  trick  had 
worked.  He  was  looking  at  me  with  a  mix- 
ture of  fear  and  contempt  which  an  insane 
person  always  inspires  in  one  of  his  order  of 
mind. 

I  don't  know  that  my  story  alone  would  have 
convinced  him,  but  it  fitted  in  too  well  with  my 
unkempt  appearance  and  my  otherwise  unaccount- 
able performance  at  the  piano  for  him  to  doubt 
it.  I  was  some  harmless  lunatic  escaped  from  an 
asylum. 

If  he  could  safeguard  me  from  attracting  too 
much  attention,  he  stood  a  chance  to  keep  me  and 
get  my  valuable  services  at  the  piano  at  almost  no 
expense;  but  to  put  me  up  on  the  stage  and  make 
a  feature  of  me,  would,  of  course,  be  fatal.  No 
contract  that  he  could  get  me  to  sign  would  safe- 
guard him  against  losing  me  the  moment  my  real 
identity  was  discovered. 

Presently  he  came  back  to  me.  "  Where  do 
you  live?  "  he  demanded. 

I  made  a  vague  gesture. 

"  I  am  not  at  my  palace  now,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  now,"  he  said,  using,  grotesquely 
69  N 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

enough,  the  coaxing  tone  which  people  address  to 
children,  "  well,  now,  you  stay  here  and  live  with 
me.    I  will  board  you  free  and  I  will  pay  you  two 
dollars  per  day.     Does  that  go?  " 
And  that  was  how  I  got  a  job. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A    NEW    FRIEND  AND  AN   OLD    ENEMY 

IT  was  during  the  leisure  moments  of  the  two 
weeks  that  I  worked  as  pianist  in  Mike  Lynch's 
saloon  that  I  wrote  the  account  of  my  adventures 
up  to  the  point  where  I  now  resume  it. 

An  extended  account  of  that  engagement  would 
have  no  place  in  this  narrative.  As  I  think  of  that 
time  now,  I  wonder  alternatively  how  I  endured  it 
as  long  as  I  did,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  whether 
I  might  not  be  there  still  if  fate  had  not,  in  her 
drastic  and  unexpected  way,  taken  a  hand  in  the 
game. 

For  a  man  of  any  refinement  of  musical  feeling, 
the  experience  of  banging  away,  night  after  night, 
the  same  inane,  vulgar  songs  and  dances  could 
be  nothing  but  torture.  The  spent,  malodorous 
moral  atmosphere  of  the  place,  the  leers  and  jests 
in  the  strident  voices  of  red-legged  soubrettes,  the 
vulgar  antics  of  clowns  disfigured  to  the  point  of 
nausea  by  what  is  known  as  "  comic  makeup,"  the 
brawlers  in  the  audience,  besotted  with  drink,  all 
these  were  subsidiary  evils. 
6  71 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

Much  as  I  hated  it,  however,  it  is  easy  to  see 
why  I  stayed.  Any  preliminary  toward  finding 
other  work  would  involve  quitting  this  job  I  had, 
for  Lynch,  during  the  time  I  was  not  at  the  piano, 
hardly  allowed  me  out  of  his  sight. 

The  violent  adventures  of  the  first  two  or  three 
days  following  my  return  to  consciousness  had 
left  me  in  a  sort  of  lassitude,  where  any  routine 
which  comprised  food  and  shelter  and  bade  fair 
to  keep  me  out  of  the  hands  of  those  two  dreaded 
Dugglebys,  father  and  son,  was  hard  to  exchange 
for  another  fierce  tussle  with  the  world. 

The  night  that  was  destined  to  be  the  last  of 
that  experience,  the  night  when  fate  took  her  hand 
in  the  game,  began  like  all  the  others.  It  was  a 
stifling  hot  Saturday  night.  All  Coney  Island  was 
gorged  with  restless  pleasure  seekers,  and,  as 
usual,  the  dregs  of  that  great  teeming  mass  of  hu- 
manity settled  in  Lynch's  saloon. 

Indeed,  the  notoriety  of  this  unsavory  resort 
was  what  provided  the  only  mitigating  feature  of 
its  audiences.  It  was  so  bad  that  decent  people 
often  came  to  see  how  bad  it  was.  These  amateur 
sociologists  never  failed  to  afford  me  a  good  deal 
of  quiet  amusement  whenever  they  sat  where  I 
could  see  them  or  hear  them  talk. 

There  had  been  no  such  pleasant  diversion  to- 
night, however,  and  at  ten  o'clock,  when  the  orgy 

72 


A    NEW   FRIEND 

had  got  fairly  into  full  swing,  I  was  pounding 
away,  resolved  to  get  through  the  evening  by  sheer 
brute  endurance. 

Suddenly,  during  a  lull  in  the  noise,  coincident 
with  the  appearance  of  an  alleged  comic  monol- 
ogist,  I  heard  the  sounds  of  an  altercation  at  a 
table  just  behind  me.  There  was  nothing  unusual 
in  that,  Heaven  knows,  and  I  should  not  even  have 
turned  my  head,  had  it  not  been  that  the  voice  and 
speech  of  one  of  the  disputants  were  such  as  I  had 
never  heard  before  in  that  place. 

He  was  a  gentleman,  evidently  one  of  those 
amateur  sociologists  I  have  spoken  about,  and  he 
was  laboriously  trying  to  express  himself  in  very 
broken  and  insufficient  English. 

I  whirled  about  on  my  stool  to  see  what  it  was 
all  about.  The  man,  whose  explanation  seemed  to 
be  making  so  little  headway,  was  a  gentleman  of 
middle  age,  of  highly  intelligent  appearance,  but 
somewhat  unfortunately  for  him,  he  was  in  full 
evening  dress.  By  the  time  that  I  had  turned 
around,  so  many  people  were  talking  to  him  at 
once,  and  with  such  unnecessary  wealth  of 
gesture  and  expletive,  that  it  took  me  a  mo- 
ment to  discover  the  true  cause  of  his  offense 
myself. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  he  was  utterly  bewil- 
dered. It  seemed  he  had  seated  himself,  in  all  in- 

73 


nocence,  in  a  chair  which  had  been  only  tempo- 
rarily relinquished  by  a  lady  of  the  party  which 
occupied  the  other  seats  at  the  table,  a  lady  whose 
reappearance  was  momentarily  to  be  expected. 

The  noise  of  expostulation  swelled  rapidly;  two 
or  three  waiters  were  coming  up ;  the  comic  monol- 
ogist  from  the  stage  lent  his  voice  to  the  al- 
tercation, and  there  seemed  to  be  all  the  material 
for  a  fair-sized  row.  Once  more  the  gentleman, 
in  his  halting,  laborious  way,  attempted  to  in- 
quire what  was  wrong.  Then  suddenly,  to  my 
amazement,  he  broke  into  most  rapid  and  fluent 
speech. 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence,  and  then  from 
all  the  tables  about  came  guffaws  of  laughter.  As 
for  me,  I  sat  there  on  my  piano  stool  spellbound 
for  the  moment  by  the  double  realization  that  he 
was  speaking  another  language  than  English, 
which  my  inner  man  instinctively  labeled  French, 
and  that  I  understood  what  he  was  saying. 

I  rose  and  walked  over  to  him. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  I,  in  his  own  tongue,  "  pos- 
sibly I  may  be  able  to  clear  up  this  little  misun- 
derstanding." 

He  looked  up  at  me  and  gasped  with  relief. 

"Thank  God!  "he  said. 

I  explained  the  situation  to  him,  whereupon  he 
arose,  of  course,  with  a  comprehensive  bow  of 

74 


A    NEW    FRIEND 

apology.  I  accompanied  him  to  another  vacant 
chair,  not  far  away,  and  ascertained  for  him  that 
no  one  else  had  a  prior  claim  to  it. 

"  I  am  a  thousand  times  obliged,"  he  said. 
"  There  were  all  the  materials  for  a  very  unpleas- 
ant few  moments,  from  which  you,  sir,  were  good 
enough  to  rescue  me.  I  should  not  have  ventured 
in  here  alone  if  I  had  suspected  that  my  command 
of  English  would  fail  me  in  that  ridiculous  way 
at  a  crisis." 

Unconscious  of  what  I  was  doing,  I  drew  up 
another  opportunely  vacated  chair,  and  seated  my- 
self beside  him.  I  was  as  oblivious  to  my  pres- 
ent surroundings  as  I  had  been  that  morning  two 
weeks  before  when  I  first  seated  myself  at  the 
piano. 

My  old  self  absolutely  dominated  me.  I  was 
struggling  again  to  organize,  to  coordinate,  the 
horde  of  memories,  associations,  pictures,  which 
the  sound  of  this  fine,  pure  French  speech  awak- 
ened within  me. 

I  found  him  looking  at  me  curiously. 
'  You  will  pardon  my  asking  the  question,"  he 
said,   "  but  are  you  not  the  gentleman  who  was 
seated  at  the  piano  when  I  came  in?  " 

That  question  brought  the  present  back  to  me. 
I  rubbed  my  hand  vaguely  across  my  forehead. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.     "  Yes— I  was." 
75 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  In  that  case,"  he  said,  "  I  am  obliged  to  you 
for  more  than  rescuing  me  from  the  consequences 
of  my  stupid  blunder.  It  was  a  delightful,  though 
somewhat  mystifying  experience  to  have  heard 
one  of  Tschaikowsky's  waltzes  played  as  you 
played  it,  in  a — a " 

"  A  hell  of  this  sort,"  I  finished  for  him. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  mild  deprecation. 

"  I  hardly  realized  where  my  sentence  was  tak- 
ing me  when  I  began  it,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am 
obliged  to  confess  that  you  have  greatly  piqued 
my  curiosity." 

"  Apparently  it  takes  a  certain  number  of  mys- 
teries to  make  up  a  world,"  said  I.  "  Shall  I  strain 
your  curiosity  too  far  if  I  ask  a  question?  " 

"  Proceed,  monsieur." 

"  I  believe,"  said  I  slowly,  "  that  I  am  at  this 
moment  carrying  on  a  conversation  with  you  in 
French?" 

His  eyes  widened. 

"  But  most  assuredly,"  he  said. 

"  And  further,"  I  went  on,  "  if  it  is  a  question 
you  are  willing  to  give  me  a  candid  answer  to,  is 
my  speech  in  French  the  speech  of  a  gentleman  of 
education?  " 

I  had  simply  surprised  him  before ;  now  he  was 
interested.  He  looked  at  me  more  closely,  with  a 
puzzled  frown. 

76 


A    NEW    FRIEND 

"  How  can  monsieur  ask  that?  "  he  said.  u  You 
certainly  are  of  French  birth,  are  you  not?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  It  may  be,"  I  said,  "  I  do 
not  know." 

He,  as  well  as  I,  had  forgotten  for  the  moment 
where  we  were,  but  in  the  next  moment  we  got 
a  sharp  reminder. 

My  comic  monologist  had  come  to  the  end  of 
his  string  of  pleasantries,  and  had  given  me  the  cue 
to  the  introduction  of  one  of  his  songs.  There 
was  a  moment  of  confusion  when  I  failed  to 
respond.  He  peered  over  the  footlights  into 
the  little  well  where  I  was  supposed  to  sit  and 
remarked  my  absence;  and  at  the  same  time 
Lynch,  from  his  post  of  general  observation,  dis- 
covered where  I  was.  He  bore  down  upon  me  in 
a  rage. 

"What  are  you  doin'  here?"  he  demanded, 
seizing  me  roughly  by  the  arm.  "  This  is  no  time 
for  you  to  get  luny.  Go  back  to  that  piano,  and 
be  quick  about  it." 

To  make  sure  his  orders  were  carried  out,  he 
retained  his  hold  on  my  arm,  and  piloted  me  down 
the  aisle.  There  was  a  general  craning  of  necks 
and  scraping  of  chairs.  The  crowd  seemed  to  be 
scenting  another  row. 

Rather  humiliated  by  the  situation  in  which  I 
found  myself,  I  asked  Lynch  to  let  go  my  arm, 

77 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

saying  that  I  would  go  directly  to  the  piano  my- 
self. 

The  sound  of  my  voice  had  a  curious  effect  on 
one  of  the  men  whose  table  I  was  passing.  He 
was  one  of  a  party  of  three,  and  the  other  two 
were  facing  me.  They  were  clearly  of  a  much 
higher  social  order  than  the  average  frequenters 
of  the  resort,  but  this  fact  was  not  apparent  from 
their  manner,  for  they  were  drunk  to  the  point  of 
being  boisterous. 

The  third  man,  whose  face  I  could  not  see,  was 
presumably  in  the  same  condition,  but  at  the  sound 
of  my  voice  as  I  spoke  to  Lynch  in  passing  him, 
he  started,  as  if  stung,  and  slued  half  around. 

Luckily  for  me,  he  turned  the  wrong  way,  and 
was  balked  in  his  evident  intention  of  getting  a 
look  at  me,  but  I  caught  a  quarter  view  of  his  face, 
and  that  was  enough  to  bring  the  old  numbing  ter- 
ror back  over  me  again.  The  man  was  young 
Duggleby ! 

The  table  where  he  and  his  companions  sat  was 
not  more  than  three  or  four  paces  from  my  piano. 
I  must  have  played  the  song  perfectly  automati- 
cally, for  I  have  no  recollection  whatever  of  any- 
thing going  on  during  the  next  few  minutes,  except 
the  conversation  of  those  three  men.  My  ears 
picked  it  out  from  the  midst  of  all  the  tumult;  the 
noise  I  myself  was  making  at  the  piano,  the  rau- 

78 


A   NEW   FRIEND 

cous  voice  of  the  comedian,  the  clatter  of  glasses 
and  of  plates,  were  all  to  me  as  if  they  had  been 
silence. 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  him,"  Duggleby  kept  re- 
peating, emphasizing  his  remarks  by  pounding 
with  his  stein  upon  the  table.  "  Know  him?  I'd 
know  him  in  Egypt." 

"Oh,  you're  drunk,"  said  one  of  his  friends; 
"  shut  up." 

And  the  second  man  said : 

"  They  will  chuck  us  out  in  a  minute.  You 
know  they're  glad  of  the  advertisement  they  get 
by  throwing  a  gentleman  out  of  a  sty  like  this." 

"  I  know  I'm  drunk,"  said  Duggleby.  "  Have 
I  said  I  wasn't?  Is  there  any  man  here  who  can 
tell  me  that  I'm  not  drunk,  or  that  I  said  I  wasn't? 
But  I'm  not  going  to  be  drunk  any  more;  I  can't 
afford  to." 

"  Oh,  come,"  laughed  one  of  the  others;  "  the 
night's  young.  Have  another." 

"  No !  "  said  young  Duggleby.  "  You  two  can 
make  blind  fools  of  yourselves  if  you  like,  but  I 
tell  you  I  can't  afford  it.  Drink  what  you  like. 
I'm  going  to  have  coffee.  I  mean  to  be  sober  in 
ten  minutes." 

And  it  soon  became  evident  that  by  sheer  will 
power  he  was  doing  exactly  as  he  said.  My  heart 
sank  deeper  and  deeper,  as  every  succeeding  sen- 

79 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

tence  he  uttered  showed  that  he  was  bringing  his 
wandering  wits  into  better  and  better  control. 

It  was  evident  to  me  then,  if  it  had  not  been 
before,  how  seriously  my  escape  had  alarmed  those 
two  rich,  formidable  Dugglebys.  Evidently  my 
success  in  finding  the  man  I  sought  and  reestab- 
lishing my  own  identity  would  spell  disaster  to 
both  of  them. 

Duggleby  was  speaking  again. 

"  Now  listen,  you  two,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sober. 
Understand  that,  and  don't  start  a  row  when  I  get 
up  to  do  what  I  am  going  to  do  now.  There  won't 
be  any  row,  unless  you  start  it.  But  if  one  of  you 
tries  to  hold  me,  he's  going  to  get  hurt.  I'm  going 
up  to  have  a  look  at  that  man  at  the  piano.  When 
I  leave  this  place,  you  get  up  and  follow  me  out. 
I  shall  want  your  help." 

And  still  I  sat  there  playing  over  and  over 
again  the  jigging  bars  of  the  dance  tune  that  ac- 
companied the  flying  feet  of  the  comedian.  What 
else  was  there  to  do  ?  Evidently  he  never  dreamed 
that  I  could  have  overheard  what  he  was  saying 
to  his  friends,  for  the  trick  he  played  could  do  him 
no  good,  except  as  he  believed  that  he  was  de- 
ceiving me. 

He  deliberately  assumed  the  condition  he  had 
verily  been  in  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before. 
He  staggered  as  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  came 

80 


A    NEW   FRIEND 

reeling  down  the  aisle,  smiling  with  the  drunken 
satisfaction  of  one  who  thinks  he  is  about  to  do 
something  exquisitely  funny. 

That  reeling  gate  is  deceptive.  A  man  can  go 
faster  that  way  than  he  can  walk,  except  with  the 
obvious  appearance  of  haste. 

Before  any  of  the  waiters  or  bystanders  could 
come  to  my  assistance,  he  had  pulled  me  around 
on  the  stool,  flung  his  arms  around  me  and  em- 
braced me  as  if  I  had  been  his  long-lost  brother. 
The  maneuver  gave  him  time  enough  to  shoot  one 
blazing,  searching  glance  straight  into  my  face,  a 
look  as  little  drunken,  as  swift,  as  purposeful  as 
a  fencer's. 

Of  course  it  was  over  in  a  minute.  Lynch  him- 
self was  only  half  a  dozen  paces  off,  and  before 
I  could  get  my  breath,  he  and  one  of  the  waiters 
were  bundling  Duggleby  off  down  the  aisle. 

I  saw  through  the  trick,  but  I  am  sure  it 
would  have  deceived  me  had  I  not  overheard  his 
previous  conversation.  He  wanted  to  avoid 
alarming  me  unnecessarily,  and  hoped  that  even 
if  I  recognized  him  and  knew  how  much  I  had 
to  fear  from  him,  I  should  still  believe  his  act  to 
have  been  one  of  mere  drunken  folly,  of  which  he 
would  have  no  recollection  when  he  should  wake 
up  with  a  bad  headache  to-morrow  morning. 

If  that  interpretation  of  his  action  were  correct, 
81 


and  I  could  think  of  no  other,  I  felt  with  sicken- 
ing certainty  that  he  must  be,  at  that  very  moment, 
laying  his  plans  to  capture  me  before  the  night 
was  out.  I  was  safe,  in  all  probability,  for  just 
so  long  as  the  crowd  remained  in  the  saloon  and 
I  stuck  to  my  piano  stool. 

When  I  reached  that  conclusion,  the  time, 
which  had  crept  so  slowly,  suddenly  began  to  fly. 
The  minutes,  the  fives,  the  quarters,  marked  by  the 
small  clock  which  stood  upon  the  piano,  sped  by 
as  if  on  wings,  and  still  I  could  think  of  no  plan 
that  seemed  to  promise  even  a  faint  hope  of 
escape. 

There  were  three  of  them,  and  undoubtedly 
Duggleby  would  be  able  to  enlist  more  in  his  serv- 
ice, if  he  felt  them  necessary  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure. 

They  were  clad  in  motoring  clothes,  I  vividly 
remembered,  and  that  meant  an  automobile.  It 
turned  me  sick  to  think  that  that  automobile  was 
likely  to  make  a  record  run  out  to  Dr.  Berry's  asy- 
lum this  very  night. 

I  ran  over  in  my  mind  the  list  of  acquaintances 
I  had  made  here  in  the  saloon  during  the  past  two 
weeks,  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  one  to  whom 
I  could  appeal  for  help. 

Lynch  himself  was  out  of  the  question.  The 
man,  I  was  convinced,  was  a  thorough-going 

82 


A    NEW   FRIEND 

rogue.  I  had  very  little  doubt  that  Duggleby  had 
fixed  him  already.  He  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

I  turned  about  for  a  second,  and  cast  a  glance 
at  the  entrance  to  the  saloon,  at  the  far  side  of  the 
hall.  People  were  going  out  already  in  streams, 
but  I  fancied,  amidst  the  crowd,  that  I  saw  one 
figure  holding  its  place,  a  figure  clad  in  a  long 
motoring  coat. 

My  margin  of  safety  now  could  only  be  reck- 
oned by  minutes.  The  waiters  were  yawning ;  the 
performers  who  came  on  the  stage  were  of  a  sort 
known  in  the  slang  of  that  world  as  "  chasers." 
In  another  half  hour,  at  the  most,  I  should  be 
abandoned  to  the  mercy  of  my  enemies. 

And  then,  from  a  source  from  which  I  never 
dreamed  of  expecting  it,  aid  came.  A  waiter 
brought  a  visiting  card  and  laid  it  on  the  piano 
rack.  It  was  engraved  with  the  name  and  title  of 
Dr.  Charles  Marie  de  Villiers  of  Paris,  Member 
of  the  French  Academy  of  Medicine.  On  the 
back  was  written  in  French : 

I  believe  you  are  in  difficulty.  Will  you  accept  such 
aid  as  I  may  be  able  to  render  you  ? 

It  was  indiscreet,  but  I  could  not  help  swinging 
abruptly  around  on  the  piano  stool.  There  sat 
the  Frenchman,  the  man  in  evening  dress,  whom  I 
had  assisted  earlier  in  the  evening.  It  had  never 

83 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

occurred  to  me  that  he  had  not  left  the  place  hours 
before. 

I  caught  his  eye,  and  he  shot  me  an  almost  im- 
perceptible signal  to  turn  back  again  to  the  piano. 
He,  too,  had  probably  seen  the  man  in  the  motor 
coat  waiting  in  the  doorway,  and  he  had  perceived 
that  his  aid  would  be  immensely  more  valuable  to 
me  if  the  spy  had  no  suspicion  that  it  was  about 
to  be  given. 

The  mere  knowledge  that  he  was  there,  that  he 
had  waited  to  help  me,  that  I  was  no  longer  alone 
with  my  back  against  the  wall,  acted  on  me  like 
a  powerful  stimulant.  A  plan  flashed  into  my 
mind  on  the  instant.  Pulling  a  sheet  of  music 
from  the  top  of  the  piano,  I  wrote  upon  it,  as  fast 
as  I  could  make  my  fingers  fly : 

A  thousand  thanks.  I  am  going  through  the  door 
that  leads  into  the  kitchen.  I  will  wait  at  the  other  side 
of  it.  If  the  spy  at  the  door  disappears,  or  if  he  comes 
down  the  aisle,  as  if  in  pursuit  of  me,  pound  on  the  table 
with  your  glass.  They  will  think  you  are  calling  a 
waiter. 

I  wrote,  of  course,  in  French.  Then  I  nodded 
to  the  waiter  who  had  brought  me  the  card. 

"  This  is  the  sheet  of  music  the  gentleman 
wishes  to  see,"  said  I;  "  take  it  over  to  him." 

I  figured  that  upon  seeing  me  disappear,  the  spy 
84 


'  This  is  the  sheet  of  music  the  gentleman  wishes  to  see.' 


A    NEW   FRIEND 

would  do  one  of  two  things:  either  bolt  around 
outside  the  saloon  to  the  rear  entrance  to  warn  the 
people  there  to  be  ready  for  me,  or  else  that  he 
would  pursue  me  through  the  saloon  itself.  In 
either  case,  I  should  answer  the  doctor's  signal  by 
coming  immediately  back  into  the  saloon.  If  the 
spy  had  rushed  around  to  the  back  door,  as  I 
thought  it  more  than  likely  he  would,  the  doctor 
and  I  could  walk  out  of  the  front  entrance  unmo- 
lested. In  case  he  pursued  me — well,  it  would  be 
only  man  to  man,  and  I  imagined  that  I  could  give 
a  good  account  of  him  and  still  make  my  escape 
through  the  main  door. 

It  was  only  a  moment  before  I  heard  the  doc- 
tor's signal.  The  spy  had  disappeared,  as  I 
thought  it  more  than  likely  he  would.  The  doctor 
and  I  walked  rapidly  toward  the  door. 

"  You  have  repaid  my  small  favor  a  thousand- 
fold," said  I,  "  for  unless  I  am  altogether  insane, 
I  was  in  a  very  serious  difficulty  when  you  came 
to  the  rescue.  I  hope  soon  to  have  a  chance  to 
thank  you  more  adequately  for  having  got  me  out 
of  it." 

"  I  have  not  got  you  out  of  it  yet,"  he  said 
shortly.  "  Don't  make  that  mistake.  That  young 
man  who  sobered  himself  up  by  sheer  force  of 
will,  and  then  shammed  drunk  to  get  a  look  at 
you,  is  no  fool,  and  it  was  he  who  stood  guard  at 

85 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

the  door  yonder.  He  had  put  on  his  friend's 
motor  coat  and  cap.  Oh,  no,  we  are  not  done  with 
him  yet." 

There  was  a  sort  of  repressed  thrill  of  joy  in  his 
voice,  as  if,  except  for  his  sympathy  for  me,  he 
found  an  adventure  of  this  sort  very  much  to  his 
taste. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  walk  with  me  as 
far  as  the  platform  where  the  rapid  transit  ex- 
press leaves  for  Brooklyn,  that  will  make  my 
safety  secure  enough." 

"  I  won't  put  you  on  a  train,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  an  automobile  here,  and  I  shan't  leave  you 
until  I  have  got  you  home,  wherever  that  may  be." 

I  laughed.  "  I  have  no  home  in  the  world," 
said  I. 

He  made  a  sort  of  grimace  at  that,  but  rather 
as  though  my  admission  made  the  adventure  all 
the  more  agreeable  to  him  than  otherwise. 

We  had  got  out  into  the  street  without  molesta- 
tion. Surf  Avenue  was  emptying  fast,  but  there 
was  still  enough  of  a  crowd  to  make  the  picking 
out  of  any  individual  a  difficult  matter. 

"  He's  lost  us,  I  think,"  said  I. 

The  Frenchman  only  shook  his  head. 

;<  Well,  then,  what  do  you  think  he  means  to 
do?  "  I  questioned. 

"  If  I  knew,"  he  said  shortly,  "  the  excitement 
86 


A   NEW   FRIEND 

of  this  affair  would  then  be  at  an  end."  Then  he 
added :  "  Don't  talk  any  more ;  don't  say  another 
word.  My  automobile  is  in  the  shed  there,  just 
past  the  entrance  to  Luna  Park.  Here's  where 
we  lose  or  win." 

The  entrance  was  still  ablaze  with  light,  which 
made  the  little  alley  just  beyond  all  the  blacker. 
This  circumstance  seemed  to  trouble  the  doctor. 

"  I  was  fool  enough  not  to  have  crossed  the 
street,"  he  whispered,  "  and  come  up  from  the 
other  side." 

We  turned  to  the  left  and  started  down  the  alley 
toward  the  automobile  shed.  I  noticed  there 
were  two  cars  there.  A  second  later  the  doctor 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  alarm;  and  the  next 
moment  my  arms  were  pinioned  from  behind. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE   FLIGHT   IN   THE   DARK 

DUGGLEBY'S  two  friends  had  me  in  a  grip 
which  no  man  not  a  Hercules  could  break. 

In  the  light  of  calm  reflection,  it  is  easy  to  see 
how  my  keen-eyed  enemy  had  been  able  to  spring 
his  trap  with  such  certainty  of  success.  He  had 
no  doubt  detected  the  interest  the  French  doctor 
was  taking  in  me,  long  before  I  received  the  offer 
of  aid  on  the  visiting  card. 

He  had  recognized  in  the  doctor  a  man  of  ex- 
ceptional intelligence,  and  had  not  made  the  mis- 
take of  leaving  him  out  of  his  calculations.  He 
had,  no  doubt,  guessed  that  a  French  gentleman, 
in  full  evening  dress,  would  not  have  been  likely  to 
come  to  Coney  Island  by  so  plebeian  a  method  of 
transportation  as  the  elevated  railway  or  the  Iron 
Steamboat.  A  half  hour's  search  among  the  gar- 
ages at  the  Island  would  have  sufficed  to  verify  his 
guess  and  locate  the  doctor's  automobile. 

Then,  when,  from  his  position  at  the  door,  he 
had  seen  the  signal  pass  between  the  Frenchman 

88 


THE    FLIGHT    IN    THE    DARK 

and  me,  he  had  done  an  audacious,  but  perfectly 
reasonable  thing.  He  had  withdrawn  his  two 
friends  from  their  now  unnecessary  watch  at  the 
other  entrances  to  the  building,  and  the  three  of 
them  together  had  lain  in  wait  in  the  dark  little 
alley  where  they  were  sure  we  would  come  out  of 
our  own  accord. 

Duggleby's  own  automobile,  a  big  red  Ameri- 
can car,  stood  alongside  the  trim  gray  demi-limou- 
sine  Panhard  which  was  waiting  for  us. 

Duggleby  himself  had  taken  no  part  in  my  cap- 
ture, and  stood  drawing  on  his  gloves,  ready  to 
mount  to  his  seat  at  the  steering  wheel.  He  was 
disposed  to  be  ironically  polite  to  the  doctor. 

"  This  gentleman  is  going  to  ride  with  us,"  he 
said,  nodding  to  me.  "  I  am  sorry  to  deprive  you 
of  his  company,  but  I  expect  to  enjoy  it  greatly 
myself." 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  man- 
ner expressed  a  slight  shade  of  annoyance,  but 
nothing  more  than  that,  and  his  words  made  my 
heart  sink  like  lead. 

"  I  have  no  serious  claim  to  oppose  to  that  of 
monsieur,"  said  he,  "  especially  since  his  seems  so 
pressing." 

Then  he  turned  to  me  with  another  shrug,  and 
an  expressive  little  gesture  of  his  handsy  He  spoke 
to  me  in  French,  and  everything  about  his  man- 

89 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

ner  and  his  inflection  seemed  to  indicate  that  he 
was  making  a  polite  apology  for  leaving  me  in 
the  lurch.  But  his  words  were : 

"  Be  of  good  heart;  when  I  range  alongside,  be 
ready." 

As  he  turned  away,  he  made  a  small  blunder,  or 
what  looked  like  it,  which,  after  the  perfect  sang- 
froid he  had  shown  in  his  connection  with  the 
whole  affair,  took  us  all  a  little  by  surprise. 

He  turned  and  made  as  if  to  enter  Duggleby's 
car  instead  of  his  own.  Then,  perceiving  his  mis- 
take with  some  appearance  of  embarrassment,  he 
turned  away  and  clambered  into  the  Panhard. 

Simultaneously,  I  was  bundled,  with  scant  cere- 
mony, into  the  tonneau  of  Duggleby's  car,  his  two 
friends  taking  their  positions  one  on  either  side 
of  me. 

"  No !  "  said  Duggleby  emphatically,  in  answer 
to  the  whispered  suggestion  from  one  of  his 
friends,  "  it's  no  use,  I  tell  you ;  we  can't  tie  him. 
How  should  we  go  through  town  like  that  ?  Keep 
your  shoulders  behind  his;  that's  all  that's  neces- 
sary." 

The  doctor's  chauffeur  was  still  cranking  unsuc- 
cessfully at  the  Panhard  as  we  shot  out  of  the  alley 
and  into  the  broad,  almost  deserted  street.  The 
plight  of  the  French  car  seemed  to  afford  some 
amusement  to  my  two  captors  in  the  tonneau. 

90 


THE    FLIGHT    IN    THE    DARK 

"  He  won't  get  away  in  a  hurry,"  said  one. 

"  Trust  Duggleby  for  that,"  said  the  other. 

"  What  was  it  he  did  to  it?  " 

The  first  man  leaned  behind  me  and  whispered 
hoarsely  behind  his  hand : 

"  The  cock  between  the  gasoline  tank  and 
the — "  he  began,  but  his  beery  whisper,  which 
was  easily  audible  to  me,  had  reached  Duggleby's 
ears  also. 

"  Shut  up,  you  fool,"  he  said. 

The  epithet  would  have  applied  with  equal 
truth  to  both  these  young  men  who  held  me  pris- 
oner between  them.  All  I  had  to  fear  from  either 
of  them,  it  was  clear,  was  their  muscles.  There 
was  silence  until  Duggleby  himself  broke  it. 

"  Do  you  know?  "  he  asked — "  I  don't  suppose 
you  care  to  tell  me,  but  you  really  might  as  well — 
do  you  know  why  the  doctor  pretended  to  make 
a  mistake  so  that  he  could  get  a  look  into  my 
car?" 

None  of  us  answered ;  he  laughed  shortly. 

"You  want  a  name  to  be  called  by,  do  you? 
Well,  then,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Andrew  Meikle- 
john?" 

Of  course  he  had  no  idea  that  he  could  get  any 
information  from  me,  even  if  I  had  it.  I  think  his 
only  purpose  in  addressing  me  at  all  was,  if  pos- 
sible, to  engage  me  in  conversation.  He  must 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

have  been  intensely  curious  as  to  what  sort  of 
thoughts  and  memories  were  in  my  head.  Even  a 
deliberate  attempt  to  mislead  him  might  reveal 
much.  So  I  maintained  an  unbroken  silence. 

He  drove  that  car,  as  I  imagine  he  did  every- 
thing else,  with  a  fine  blend  of  judgment  and  au- 
dacity, and  a  very  high  degree  of  manual  skill. 
Fields,  hedges,  buildings,  clumps  of  trees,  were 
pouring  past  us  in  a  confusion  which  proclaimed, 
all  too  plainly,  the  speed  at  which  we  were  run- 
ning. 

Up  over  our  heads  the  big  arc  lamps  which 
lighted  the  driveway  rushed  over  us  like  an  or- 
derly procession  of  comets.  If  we  kept  up  that 
pace  it  seemed  unlikely  that  any  car  in  the  world 
would  ever  range  alongside;  but  I  kept  up  my 
courage  and  blindly  pinned  my  faith  to  the  doctor. 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  that  I  could  see  my 
own  shadow  on  the  polished  back  of  the  seat  in 
front  of  me.  The  arc  lamps  overhead  could  not 
cast  that  shadow.  It  could  only  come  from  a  light 
near  the  level  of  the  road,  from  the  searchlight  of 
an  automobile.  Slowly  the  shadow  grew  more 
distinct,  as  the  light  which  defined  it  became 
brighter. 

Fast  as  we  were  flying,  a  silent  gray  car  behind 
us  on  the  road  was  flying  faster  still. 

I  did  not  turn  my  head,  did  not  move  my  quietly 
92 


THE    FLIGHT    IN    THE    DARK 

relaxed  body  in  the  smallest  degree,  but  every 
nerve,  every  muscle,  every  thought,  every  faculty 
of  mind  and  body  was  ready.  I  found  it  easy  to 
be  of  good  heart  now.  Neither  of  the  two  men 
beside  me  appeared  to  notice  anything.  One  of 
them,  indeed,  seemed  half  asleep.  But  the  man 
at  the  wheel  was  alert  enough  to  make  up  for  it. 

The  first  flash  of  silver  light  on  the  corner  of 
his  mud  guard,  of  a  light  that  could  only  come 
from  behind,  was  enough  to  tell  him  the  whole 
story.  He  did  not  turn  his  head  any  more  than 
I  did. 

"  Look  out  behind,  one  of  you,"  he  com- 
manded, "  and  see  if  you  can  see  anything." 

At  that,  both  men  turned  with  a  start. 

"  There's  a  pair  of  headlights,"  said  one,  "  com- 
ing down  the  road  after  us,  to  beat  hell." 

"  Is  it  the  Panhard  or  is  it  not?  "  demanded 
Duggleby.  "  That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  It  don't  say  anything  about  that  on  the  head- 
light," replied  my  other  guard,  "  but  he's  burning 
up  the  road  all  right.  We're  not  exactly  standing 
still  ourselves." 

We  were  going  so  fast  that  the  pressure  of  air 
on  our  faces  made  it  difficult  to  breathe,  and  the 
man's  words  were  torn  from  his  mouth  and  blown 
away,  like  a  smoke  wreath  in  a  hurricane.  But 
with  all  our  speed  the  reflection  on  the  polished 

93 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

seat  in  front  of  me  grew  brighter  and  brighter. 
How  that  car  was  rushing  on! 

My  two  guards,  breathless,  hatless,  were  cran- 
ing around  to  look.  They  seemed  to  have  quite 
forgotten  me.  I  never  stirred  from  my  upright 
position  between  their  knees,  never  moved  my 
head,  never  took  my  gaze  from  the  shadow  of 
myself  on  the  seat  in  front. 

Its  position  with  reference  to  my  own  made  it 
perfectly  clear  that  the  car  was  coming  up  exactly 
behind  us,  which  seemed  a  curious  thing  to  do  if 
it  hoped  to  pass.  I  suspect  the  maneuver  puzzled 
young  Duggleby  not  a  little,  for  he  asked  irritably : 

"What's  he  doing  back  there?  Can't  you 
make  out?  " 

Before  either  of  them  could  answer,  I  saw  my 
shadow  move  suddenly  to  the  right.  Our  pursuer 
was  pulling  out  to  the  left,  with  the  evident  inten- 
tion of  passing  us.  The  new  position  of  the  shad- 
ows told  Duggleby  exactly  what  it  had  told  me. 
It  was  the  move  that  he  had  been  expecting,  and 
he  was  ready  for  it.  Our  car  deflected  to  the  left 
also. 

The  next  moment,  by  a  trick  of  steering  which 
would  have  done  honor  to  a  prize  contestant  for 
the  Gordon-Bennett  cup,  a  trick  which  would  have 
spelled  instant  disaster  had  it  not  been  executed 
with  consummate  skill,  the  driver  of  the  pursuing 

94 


THE    FLIGHT    IN    THE    DARK 

car  made  a  sharp  reverse  curve  and  ranged  along- 
side of  us  on  the  right. 

The  two  men  in  the  tonneau  with  me  were  gasp- 
ing in  plain  undisguised  terror.  The  car  was  pass- 
ing us  so  close,  even  at  that  appalling  rate  of 
speed,  that  the  hubs  of  our  wheels  could  hardly 
have  been  three  inches  apart. 

"  Be  ready  when  I  range  alongside." 

That  sentence  of  the  doctor's  was  ringing  in  my 
mind.  Well,  I  was  ready,  and  one  or  more  long 
seconds  would  probably  reveal  to  me  what  I  was 
to  be  ready  for. 

Suddenly  the  man  at  my  right  uttered  a  horri- 
fied outcry,  and  in  that  instant  I  saw  an  uplifted 
hand  shoot  out  from  the  limousine,  a  hand  that 
held,  poised  and  ready  to  deal  a  terrible  blow,  a 
heavy  steel  spanner. 

The  thought  in  all  our  minds  at  that  instant 
was  that  the  doctor  meant  to  brain  Duggleby  with 
it  as  he  passed  by.  If  he  did,  that  blow  would 
kill  five  men.  At  the  pace  we  were  going,  at  least, 
it  would  be  a  miracle  if  any  one  of  us  in  either  car 
escaped  alive. 

The  blow  fell,  but  not  upon  Duggleby's  de- 
fenseless head. 

I  knew  now  why  the  doctor  had  wanted  a  look 
at  the  dashboard  of  the  big  American  car.  The 
spanner  fell,  with  terrific  force,  upon  the  little 

95 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

mahogany  box  containing  the  spark  coil  and  vi- 
brators, wrecking  it  utterly.  There  would  not  be 
another  explosion  in  one  of  Duggleby's  cylinders 
that  night.  The  car  would  keep  going  on  just  so 
long  as  its  momentum  lasted,  and  not  another  foot. 
Already  our  speed  was  slackening  rapidly. 

I  have  said  my  two  captors  had  forgotten 
all  about  me  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 
When  the  blow  fell,  I  was  braced  for  the  effect  of 
it,  and  thrust  myself  sharply  backward.  Duggle- 
by's  command  that  my  guards  should  keep  their 
shoulders  behind  mine  had  not  been  lost  on  me. 
But  it  had  apparently  been  lost  on  them.  The 
sudden  slackening  of  our  speed  and  their  curiosity 
to  see  what  had  happened,  combined  to  make  them 
lean  far  forward. 

In  that  instant,  Duggleby  showed  his  true  met- 
tle. He  did  something  that  neither  the  doctor  nor 
I  had  foreseen,  something  that,  except  for  the  stu- 
pidity of  his  two  friends,  might  have  foiled  the 
doctor's  plan  for  my  rescue. 

Across  the  road,  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  a 
narrow  driveway,  flanked  by  two  heavy  stone  pil- 
lars, led  into  what  appeared  to  be  a  large  private 
yard,  surrounded  by  a  high  brick  wall.  A  second 
after  the  blow  was  struck  which  disabled  his  car, 
Duggleby  turned  sharp  to  the  left  and  made  for 
this  driveway. 

96 


THE    FLIGHT    IN    THE    DARK 

For  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  we  were  to 
be  dashed  to  pieces  against  the  farther  pillar;  but 
the  man  at  the  wheel  had  calculated  better  than 
that.  The  thing  was  only  just  possible,  but  he 
made  it.  The  doctor's  chauffeur,  evidently  un- 
prepared for  such  a  maneuver,  was  holding  straight 
on  down  the  road. 

Duggleby's  plan  was  at  once  apparent.  Before 
the  doctor's  car  could  be  stopped,  and  before  he 
and  the  chauffeur  could  come  in  pursuit  of  us,  I 
was  to  be  dragged  out  of  the  car,  tapped  on  the 
head  with  something  heavy,  if  necessary,  and  hid- 
den away  in  the  woods  behind  the  house.  In  the 
game  of  hide  and  seek  which  would  ensue,  the 
odds  would  be  in  my  enemy's  favor  again. 

But,  as  it  happened,  I  was  ready,  and  my  two 
guards  were  not.  I  was  pressed  against  the  back 
of  the  tonneau  seat,  and  they  were  both  leaning 
forv/ard  when  our  car  made  its  unexpected  and 
violent  swing  to  the  left.  That  alone  would  have 
been  enough  to  throw  them  off  their  balance  for  a 
moment,  but  I  did  not  rely  on  that.  Seizing  the 
man  at  my  left  about  the  waist,  I  flung  him  with 
all  my  might  against  his  fellow,  who  went  half- 
way out  of  the  car  with  the  violence  of  the  shock. 

Then,  like  a  flash,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  on  the 
seat  of  the  tonneau  and  vaulted  out  behind  into 
the  road.  Of  course  I  had  a  bad  fall,  but  that  was 

97 


only  to  be  expected.  In  a  second  I  was  on  my  feet 
again. 

Before  Duggleby  knew  what  had  happened,  I 
was  outside  the  gate  and  running  down  the  road 
to  meet  the  doctor,  who  was  already  coming  back 
for  me.  In  two  minutes  more  I  was  leaning  back 
among  the  luxurious  cushions  of  the  Panhard,  and 
skimming  like  a  bird  toward  Brooklyn. 

My  Frenchman  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to 
the  chauffeur: 

"  Drive  a  little  slower,"  he  said;  "  there  is  no 
hurry  in  the  world,  and  I  dislike  reckless  driving 
extremely." 

Then,  with  a  smile,  he  leaned  back  beside  me. 


CHAPTER   X 

MONSIEUR  BARRAS 

I  EXPECTED  my  rescuer  to  begin  at  once  ply- 
ing me  with  questions,  and  somewhat  wearily 
I  rallied  my  wits  and  prepared  to  answer  them.   I 
soon  found,  however,  how  far  I  had  underrated 
the  tact  and  the  consideration  of  the  French  doctor. 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  am  curious,"  he  said,  as  if  he 
had  read  my  thoughts,  "  but  my  curiosity  can  wait. 
You're  not  to  talk  at  all  until  I  give  you  leave. 
Just  lean  back  and  take  it  easy." 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  obey  him,  and  I  never 
even  looked  out  to  see  where  we  were  going,  until 
at  last  the  car  stopped  at  what  appeared  to  be 
his  destination.  Then  I  looked  up  and  laughed  a 
little. 

"Well?"  said  the  doctor  interrogatively. 

"  This  is  the  Holland  House,  is  it  not?  "  said 
I.  "  I  happened  to  give  that  address  as  mine  to 
a  pawnbroker  two  weeks  ago.  Why  the  words 
came  into  my  head  then,  or  why  I  recognize  thig 
as  the  Holland  House  now,  I  don't  know." 

99 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

A  liveried  lackey  was  opening  the  door  for  us, 
but  the  doctor,  who  was  sitting  nearest  the  door, 
did  not  at  once  move  to  dismount.  He  leaned  for- 
ward first  and  spoke  to  the  chauffeur,  addressing 
him  in  French. 

"  You  may  tell  the  consul  general,  with  my  com- 
pliments," he  said,  "  that  you  are  unquestionably 
a  jewel  of  the  first  water.  There  is  no  doubt  in 
my  mind  that  he  has  in  his  employ  the  finest  auto- 
mobile driver  in  America.  When  I  see  him  to- 
morrow, I  shall  dilate  on  that  theme  at  length," 
with  which  words  he  handed  the  man  a  gold  piece. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  I  said  in  confirmation, 
"  I  never  saw  such  a  piece  of  driving  in  my  life." 

I  think  my  appearance  must  have  shocked  even 
the  doctor  when  he  first  saw  me  in  the  light,  and 
its  effect  upon  the  staid  and  dignified  servitors  of 
the  hotel  was  simply  indescribable.  Nothing  but 
the  commanding  authority  of  the  doctor's  air 
would  ever  have  got  me  through  the  lobby,  into 
the  elevator,  and  up  to  his  suite,  without  challenge. 

I  was  hatless,  and  still  wore  the  clothes  with 
which  the  Irish  pawnbroker  had  supplied  me. 
They  had  been  shabby  enough  when  we  left  the 
saloon  at  Coney  Island,  and  my  fall  in  the  road 
from  Duggleby's  automobile  had  completed  their 
ruin.  They  just  held  together  upon  me,  and  that 
was  all.  I  had  sustained  some  minor  scratches 

100 


MONSIEUR    BARRAS 

and  abrasions  about  the  face  and  hands,  at  the 
same  time,  and  dusty  clots  of  blood  here  and  there 
about  me  completed  the  picture  of  calamity  which 
I  presented. 

Once  he  had  got  me  safe  into  his  room  and  into 
an  easy  chair,  the  doctor  ran  his  hands  over  me 
with  a  practiced  touch,  then  rang  for  his  valet.  He 
absolutely  forbade  me  to  attempt  any  explanations 
or  to  ask  any  questions  whatever.  He  and  the 
valet,  between  them,  got  me  out  of  my  rags,  into 
a  warm  bath  and  thence  to  bed;  and  I  must  have 
been  asleep  before  my  head  fairly  touched  the 
pillow. 

The  next  thing  I  knew  it  was  broad  day.  The 
doctor,  standing  with  his  back  to  me,  was  gazing 
meditatively  out  of  the  window.  When  I  spoke 
to  him  he  wheeled  around,  cast  a  brief,  though 
searching  glance  over  me,  and  remarked: 

"  No  need  to  ask  you  how  you  are.  Do  you 
realize  that  you  are  an  extremely  resilient  young 
man?" 

"  I  will  confess  to  being  a  hungry  one,"  said  I. 

"  Naturally,"  he  observed,  "  since  it  is  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon." 

He  promptly  telephoned  for  luncheon,  order- 
ing it  served  in  his  sitting  room;  and  until  I  had 
finished  eating  it,  did  most  of  the  talking  himself, 
amusing  me  greatly  with  his  impressions  of  his 

101 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

brief  visit  to  America,  with  conversation  about 
everything  under  the  sun,  in  fact,  except  the  sub- 
ject of  myself. 

I  was  aware  all  the  time  that  nothing  I  said  or 
did  escaped  his  close,  intelligent  scrutiny,  but  the 
manner  of  it  made  it  pleasant  rather  than  other- 
wise. 

When  at  last,  clad  in  a  suit  of  his  silk  pajamas 
and  a  Japanese  kimono,  I  leaned  back  in  my  easy 
chair  and  lighted  one  of  his  exquisite  cigarettes, 
he  brought  the  subject  of  our  conversation  sud- 
denly around  to  myself. 

"  I  will  confess,"  he  said,  "  that  at  eleven 
o'clock  last  night  I  thought  myself  too  old  and  too 
wise  ever  to  hope  to  find  another  completely  in- 
soluble enigma.  But  you  have  baffled  me  at  every 
point.  Every  theory  that  I  have  formed  concern- 
ing you  has  promptly  broken  down.  I  am  as  ex- 
cited about  you  as  a  ten-year-old  boy  about  a  box 
of  chemicals.  Are  you  going  to  be  able  to  solve 
yourself?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  I  hoped  you  were  going  to  do 
it  for  me.  But  it  won't  take  me  very  long  to  tell 
you  all  I  know  about  myself.  I  mean  that  liter- 
ally," I  went  on.  "  All  I  know,  every  memory, 
every  conscious  memory,  that  is  inside  my  head 
I  can  tell  you  in  the  course  of  an  hour." 

"  Good!  "  said  the  doctor;  "  go  ahead." 
102 


MONSIEUR    BARRAS 

I  was  about  to  begin  my  narrative  when  I 
thought  of  something  better. 

"  In  one  of  the  pockets  of  that  vile  bundle  of 
rags  you  stripped  me  of  last  night,  you  will  find 
the  whole  thing  written  down.  I  did  that  because 
I  no  longer  regard  my  memory  as  a  very  safe  de- 
pository." 

"Written  in  English?"  asked  the  doctor 
quickly. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  had  no  idea  I  could  talk 
French  until  I  heard  you  talking  it." 

"  Better  and  better,"  said  the  doctor;  and  in  two 
minutes  he  was  lost  in  the  eager  perusal  of  the 
manuscript  which  makes  up  the  first  chapters  of 
this  story  of  mine. 

For  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  he  had 
finished  reading,  he  sat  in  a  profound  abstraction, 
smoothing  out  the  pages  of  my  manuscript  with 
his  nervous  fingers.  It  was  with  a  good  deal  of 
difficulty  that  I  suppressed  the  questions  that  were 
trembling  on  my  lips. 

At  last  he  looked  up  at  me,  with  a  smile  of  sin- 
gular charm. 

"  I  have  asked  a  great  deal  of  you,"  he  said  at 
last,  "  and  have  given  you  a  very  little  in  re- 
turn. Nothing,  in  fact,  beyond  what  you  may 
have  inferred,  and  what  small  information  you 
could  get  from  my  visiting  card.  That  told 
8  103 


THE    MAN    WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

you  that  I  am  a  physician.  I  may  add  that  I  am 
a  man  of " 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  conquering  a 
modesty  which  he  regarded  as  false,  went  on 
straightforwardly — "  a  man  of  some  reputation 
as  a  scientific  investigator;  that  my  studies  have 
been  along  the  line  of  abnormal  psychology,  dis- 
eases of  the  mind  from  the  most  serious  and  fatal, 
down  to  the — no,  I  cannot  use  the  word  '  trifling ' 
regarding  any  of  them.  And  you  will  not  misun- 
derstand me,  I  hope,  nor  think  it  indicates  any  lack 
of  sympathy  for  you  as  a  human  being  in  deep  dis- 
tress, when  I  say  that  as  a  '  case  '  you  give  promise 
of  being  one  of  the  most  curious  and  stimulating 
in  all  my  experience.  I  am  absolutely  delighted 
with  you." 

He  shot  a  quick  glance  into  my  face  to  detect, 
if  possible,  the  effect  of  his  words  upon  me. 

"  You  want  to  ask  me  something,"  he  said; 
41  go  ahead." 

"  You  can  guess,  I  think,  after  reading  that 
manuscript  of  mine.  Am  I  mad  indeed,  or  am  I 
sane?  In  trying  to  find  out  the  identity  of  the 
man  I  was,  am  I  pouring  water  into  a  sieve  ?  build- 
ing a  house  with  cards?  Am  I  to  live  momen- 
tarily in  dread  of  the  same  obliterating  hand  that 
has  once  been  laid  upon  me?  " 

His  eyes  glowed  with  purely  human  sympathy. 
104 


MONSIEUR    BARRAS 

I  was  not  a  case  to  him  then,  I  was  a  man;  I  felt 
sure  of  that.  Yet  his  manner,  when  he  spoke,  was 
quite  detached,  quite  impersonal. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  "  as  you  sit  there 
talking  to  me  now,  the  machinery  of  your  mind 
works  as  perfectly  as  mine.  It  has  worked  abso- 
lutely without  a  flaw  from  the  first  moment  of  our 
acquaintance.  This  manuscript  in  my  hand  shows 
a  far  more  normal  mind  than  that  of  many  a  man 
high  in  the  world's  affairs.  Your  handwriting,  all 
your  physical  reactions  that  I  have  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  are  those  of  a  man  in  perfect 
health  of  mind  and  body.  You  may  be  sure  I 
should  not  have  taken  you  so  completely  into  my 
confidence  regarding  your  own  case  if  this  were 
not  true." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  you  pronounce  me  a  per- 
fectly sane,  normal  man?  " 

He  laughed. 

"  If  you  were  that,"  said  he,  "  I  should  have  no 
interest  in  you  at  all,  except  as  an  exceedingly 
pleasant  acquaintance  whom  I  have  been  instru- 
mental in  rescuing  from  embarrassment.  I  can- 
not pretend  for  a  moment  that  you  are  normal." 
He  leaned  forward  and  went  on  somewhat  more 
rapidly: 

"  You  recognized  this  building  instantly  when 
we  stopped  before  it  last  night.  Have  you  any 

105 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

recollection  of  ever  having  been  here  before? 
You  remarked  that  my  friend's  chauffeur  had  done 
the  finest  piece  of  driving  that  you  had  ever  seen. 
Can  you  recall  a  single  instance  when  you  have 
ever  ridden  in  a  motor  car  before  last  night  ?  You 
recognized  the  face  of  Monsieur  Duggleby,  the 
face  of  the  woman  in  the  cab,  but  your  own,  which 
you  see  in  the  mirror  every  day,  is  totally  unfa- 
miliar. Yet  your  mind,  in  dealing  with  affairs  of 
the  present,  is  sane  enough;  perfectly  enough  bal- 
anced to  make  it  safe  for  you  to  face  the  situation 
as  it  stands." 

"  And  do  you  believe,"  I  asked,  "  that  I  shall 
ever  succeed  in  putting  these  two  parts  of  myself 
together?  " 

"  Oh,  let  us  not  ask  for  prophecies,"  he  said, 
"  nor  look  for  miracles.  It's  much  healthier  to 
look  back  over  the  progress  you  have  already 
made.  Think  how  much  you  have  learned  by 
sheer  observation  and  deduction,  in  the  little  more 
than  two  weeks  that  have  elapsed  since  you  asked 
that  first  question  of  the  man  who  was  dozing  at 
the  other  end  of  the  bench  in  Dr.  Berry's  asylum." 

I  rose  and  extended  my  hand  to  him. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I.  "  I  will  at  least  keep  up 
the  fight.  If  patience  and  courage  can  win  it,  I 
will  win." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  after  I  had  relinquished  his 
1 06 


MONSIEUR    BARRAS 

hand,  "  listen  to  what  I  have  to  propose :  I  want 
your  permission  to  make  your  case  my  life  work 
until  I  have  solved  it.  I  am  returning  to  France 
in  two  or  three  days — on  Wednesday,  to  be  exact. 
I  wish  to  take  you  with  me.  I  cannot  remain  here, 
nor,  so  long  as  that  very  resourceful  young  Mon- 
sieur Duggleby  is  at  large,  can  you  remain  here, 
either,  with  safety. 

"  Besides  that,  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  think 
that  in  France  you  will  find  more  of  the  materials 
which  go  to  make  up  your  lost  past  than  you  can 
discover  in  America.  I  reached  that  conclusion 
largely,  though  not  entirely,  from  the  perfection 
of  your  French  speech.  I  have  an  extremely  sen- 
sitive ear;  yet  not  a  sentence,  an  idiom,  an  inflec- 
tion of  yours  has  ever  rung  false  upon  it." 

I  was  profoundly  moved. 

"  I  did  not  know  there  was  such  kindness  in  the 
world,"  said  I.  "  Yet  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  do- 
as  you  suggest." 

He  wheeled  upon  me  suddenly. 

"  As  you  are  a  sane  man,  monsieur,  give  me  a 
reason,  one  serious  reason." 

"  There  is  an  obvious  one,"  said  I.  "  I  have 
no  money." 

He  frowned  with  the  first  appearance  of  dis- 
pleasure he  had  shown. 

"  I  am  not  drumming  up  trade,"  he  said. 
107 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  Neither  had  I  in  mind  any  fees  for  your  pro- 
fessional services.  It  was  the  ordinary  expenses 
of  my  daily  life  that  I  was  thinking  about.  I  have 
nothing.  Except  for  that  impossible  bundle  of 
rags  over  there,  I  am  literally  naked." 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  said  he,  "  I  have  the 
good  fortune  to  be  rich — oh,  not  as  you  Americans 
understand  the  word,  but  plenty  rich  enough.  I 
am  a  bachelor,  never  having  had  time  to  marry  in 
my  youth,  and  now  that  I  find  my  hair  turning 
gray,  I  am  forced  to  confess  to  occasional  mo- 
ments of  loneliness.  Both  as  a  human  companion 
and  as  quite  the  most  interesting  psychological 
specimen  I  have  found,  you  will  roll  a  load  of 
years  off  my  back.  Come !  Is  it  agreed?  " 

Still  I  was  silent ;  and  then  his  quick  wit  divined 
the  true  cause  of  my  hesitation. 

"  Ah!  the  lady  in  the  cab?  "  said  he. 

I  nodded  feebly. 

"  Duggleby  is  her  enemy  as  well  as  mine,"  said 
I,  "  and  after  the  display  of  his  resources  with 
which  he  favored  us  last  night,  I  dread  more  than 
ever  leaving  her  to  the  machinations  of  himself 
and  that  precious  father  of  his." 

"  Answer  me,"  commanded  the  doctor,  with  a 
smile.  '  Which  of  these  two  weapons  would 
young  Monsieur  Duggleby  find  the  more  formi- 
dable, quixotic  chivalry  or  plain  common  sense? 

1 08 


MONSIEUR    BARRAS 

How  much  tangible  service  can  you  render  that 
young  lady  in  your  present  condition?  It  is  not 
you  as  you  stand  to-day ;  it  is  your  lost  self,  the  self 
you  must  find,  who  will  be  able  to  be  of  assistance 
to  her.  If  you  remain  here  and  permit  your  enemy 
to  turn  you  over  into  the  hands  of  that  villain  who 
calls  himself  a  doctor — have  you  thought  of  that, 
my  friend? — you  will  leave  her  defenseless,  in- 
deed." 

He  was  so  clearly  right  about  it,  that  I  yielded 
without  further  demur. 

"  I  can't  begin  to  thank  you,"  said  I. 

"Don't,"  he  said;  "no  thanks  are  necessary. 
As  I  have  already  explained  to  you,  our  arrange- 
ment is  perfectly  reciprocal." 

Then  he  allowed  his  smiling  gaze  to  travel  over 
me,  from  head  to  foot. 

"  A  pair  of  scissors  for  your  hair  and  beard," 
he  said;  "  that  my  valet  can  furnish  you  at  once. 
Clothing — that  will  have  to  wait,  in  your  puri- 
tanical New  York,  until  to-morrow  morning  when 
the  shops  open.  Your  passage  to  Paris,  that  I  can 
contrive  to  engage  to-night.  What  remains?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  fairly  exhaustive  catalogue," 
said  I,  "  already." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  there  was  something  else; 
I  had  thought  of  it  a  moment  ago.  Ah,  I  have 
it!  A  name!" 

109 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

He  led  me  over  to  the  mirror. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  bowing  with  playful  cere- 
mony, "  I  do  myself  the  honor  to  present  to  you 
Monsieur — Monsieur  Simon  Barras." 

"  I  am  honored,  indeed,"  said  I,  bowing  to  the 
figure  in  the  glass;  "  I  trust  our  acquaintance  may 
prove  a  pleasant  one." 

"  Soit"  said  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER   XI 

SUCH   STUFF  AS   DREAMS   ARE   MADE   OF 

THAT  was  Sunday.  By  Tuesday  night  my 
transformation  from  a  nameless  waif  of  a 
Coney  Island  music  hall  into  Monsieur  Barras, 
nephew  (for  that  was  the  relationship  we  had  de- 
cided upon)  to  the  famous  French  physician,  was 
complete. 

I  was  surprised  and  somewhat  amused  to  find 
how  deep  the  transformation  went.  Of  course 
it  is  true  that  clothes  do  not  make  the  man,  but 
they  can  make  a  much  larger  part  of  him  than  is 
generally  admitted.  When  the  Frenchman's  valet 
had  attended  to  my  hair  and  beard,  when  the 
tailor,  the  haberdasher,  the  bootmaker,  had  all 
added  their  quota  to  the  equipment  of  a  well-to-do 
young  gentleman  of  France,  I  found  I  felt  the  part 
as  well  as  looked  it. 

The  doctor  came  into  my  room  just  before  din- 
ner-time on  Tuesday  evening,  and  surprised  me 
before  the  glass. 

"Will  it  do?"  I  asked  him. 
in 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  Perfectly,  perfectly,"  he  said  with  enthusiasm. 
1  You  talk  French  now  with  your  shoulders  and 
your  hands  as  well  as  with  your  voice.  Abso- 
lutely, there  is  no  flaw  about  you  anywhere." 

He  had  been  absent  from  the  hotel  since  early 
morning,  and  I  commented  on  that  fact. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  "  that  with  my  affairs 
sandwiched  in  among  your  other  engagements, 
you  must  have  found  these  last  days  uncomfort- 
ably busy." 

"  I  had  no  other  engagements  worthy  of  the 
name,"  said  he.  "  I  have  merely  been  idling  here 
in  New  York.  But  you,  my  young  friend,  have 
kept  me  busy  indeed.  I  have  spent  two  days  study- 
ing over  you  at  the  Astor  Library." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  I  didn't  know  that  the  medi- 
cal library  at  the  Astor " 

"Medical  library!"  he  interrupted;  "I  have 
been  reading  the  files  of  the  New  York  Tribune, 
assisted  by  that  useful  little  volume  the  *  Tribune 
Index.'  " 

"  I  see,"  said  I,  "  you  took  the  name  of  Dug- 
gleby  for  a  clew,  and  worked  out  from  that.  You 
should  have  let  me  help  you.  I  could  have 
borrowed  a  suit  of  your  clothes  to  go  to  the 
Astor  in." 

"  That  was  exactly  what  I  did  not  want  you 
to  do,"  he  said.  "  I  have  already  a  clew  to  your 

112 


SUCH   STUFF   AS    DREAMS 

identity  which  I  think  may  lead  somewhere, 
but  I  would  not  hint  to  you  what  it  is  for  the 
world." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  I, 
a  little  puzzled,  and  possibly  just  the  least  bit 
nettled,  too. 

"  You  shall  know  in  good  time,"  he  assured  me. 
"  Meanwhile,  I  am  anxious  to  try  some  experi- 
ments. They  will  be  valuable  so  long  as  you  are 
relying  on  your  instincts  and  your  memories  for  the 
past.  The  moment  you  begin  to  be  influenced  by 
the  seeming  probability  that  you  are  this  person 
or  that,  your  instinct  will  become  corrupted  by  an 
irresistible  tendency  to  try  to  make  a  case,  and 
my  experiments  will  be  nearly  valueless." 

"  I  see,"  I  assented  somewhat  ruefully.  "  You 
mean  to  be  sure  of  getting  the  truth  from  me, 
whether  it  entirely  destroys  the  fabric  of  the  case 
you  have  been  building  up,  or  not." 

"  Precisely,"  said  he.  "  Furthermore,  if  ever 
I  betray,  by  my  way  of  asking  a  question,  the  sort 
of  answer  that  I  wish  or  expect,  you  must  utterly 
disregard  that  involuntary  hint." 

Naturally,  I  was  extremely  curious  as  to  what 
form  these  experiments  would  take,  but  I  saw  that 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  questioned  in  the  matter, 
and  resolutely  attempted  to  dismiss  all  speculation 
upon  the  subject  from  my  mind. 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

His  preparation  for  one  of  them,  I  could  not 
help  observing.  We  were  to  sail  from  the  White 
Star  pier  at  one  o'clock,  yet  he  asked  me  to  be 
dressed  and  ready  at  eleven.  I  was  sure  that  this 
unusual  allowance  of  time  was  not  due  to  any  ex- 
cessive precaution  against  our  being  late. 

There  were  two  cabs  at  the  entrance  when  we 
came  out,  a  four-wheeler,  with  all  our  luggage 
piled  upon  it,  into  which  the  doctor  consigned  the 
valet,  with  instructions  to  drive  straight  to  the 
pier. 

Our  own  vehicle  was  an  electric  hansom,  and  it 
the  doctor  commanded  to  drive  north.  We  rolled 
rapidly  up  the  Avenue  to  the  Park  entrance,  crossed 
over  to  Central  Park  West,  where  we  rode  north 
to  Seventieth ;  turned  west  again,  and  finally  again 
turned  north  on  West  End  Avenue. 

The  doctor's  only  instructions  to  me  were  to 
keep  my  mind  as  blank  as  possible,  and,  above  all, 
not  to  try  to  remember  things  nor  to  recognize 
them.  If  they  came  into  my  mind  of  their  own 
accord,  well  and  good;  but  I  was  not  to  attempt 
to  push  my  discoveries  farther  than  they  would 
go  of  themselves. 

Finally,  at  a  signal  from  the  doctor,  our  cab 
stopped  before  a  large,  fashionable,  modern  house. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  I  have  no  great  confidence 
that  my  friend  Monsieur  Vidal  is  at  home,  but  if 

114 


SUCH    STUFF   AS    DREAMS 

he  is,  we  shall  have  time  for  a  few  minutes'  call 
upon  him." 

We  ascended  the  steps  together,  and  the  doctor 
rang  the  bell.  When  the  butler  opened  the  door 
he  stepped  promptly  inside  and  presented  one  of 
his  cards  together  with  one  of  my  own.  I  may 
say,  in  parenthesis,  that  the  doctor  had  not  for- 
gotten that  detail  in  the  equipment  of  his  new 
nephew. 

"  Monsieur  Vidal  is  at  home,  is  he  not?  "  said 
the  doctor. 

The  butler  looked  blank.  "  What  name  did  you 
say,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  Monsieur  Vidal,  Monsieur  Hector  Vidal," 
said  the  doctor  in  apparent  surprise. 

"  You  must  have  mistaken  the  address,  sir,"  said 
the  man  respectfully;  "  he  does  not  live  here,  nor, 
so  far  as  I  know,  in  the  block." 

"  I  have  made  an  extremely  stupid  blunder," 
said  the  doctor;  "  thank  you." 

As  he  preceded  me  out  of  the  door,  I  thought 
I  heard  him  give  a  short  laugh,  which  seemed 
compounded  of  amusement  and  annoyance  about 
equally.  A  young  man  was  running  up  the  steps ; 
to  my  extreme  astonishment  he  was  no  less  a  per- 
son than  my  would-be  abductor  of  a  few  nights 
previous,  Mr.  Alexander  Duggleby. 

He  seemed  as  astonished  as  I  was.    The  doctor 

"5 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

alone  of  the  three  of  us  preserved  an  attitude  of 
perfect  composure. 

Young  Duggleby  had  only  cast  the  briefest  sort 
of  a  glance  at  me,  and,  as  was  natural  enough,  had 
failed  utterly  to  recognize  me.  He  was  looking 
at  the  doctor  with  an  ironical  smile,  which  could 
not  wholly  veil  a  certain  grudging  admiration. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  he  was  say- 
ing; "  can't  I  prevail  on  you  to  come  back  into  the 
house,  you  and  your — friend?" 

With  that  half-amused  smile  still  on  his  lips,  he 
turned  toward  me,  as  he  included  me  in  the  in- 
vitation. The  smile  disappeared.  He  stared  at 
me  a  moment  in  perfectly  blank  astonishment,  and 
then,  as  he  recognized  me,  a  look  of  downright 
hatred  spread  over  his  handsome  face. 

The  doctor  remained  quite  unmoved.  If  his 
hand  tightened  a  little  on  the  walking  stick  he 
carried,  the  action  was  not  perceptible. 

"  My  nephew,"  he  corrected  politely,  "  Mon- 
sieur Simon  Barras.  I  am  sorry  we  cannot  accept 
your  invitation,  sir." 

Young  Duggleby  stood  rooted  where  he  was  on 
the  steps.  We  got  into  our  hansom  and  began  to 
roll  smoothly  away.  Looking  back  through  the 
little  window,  we  could  see  him  standing  there 
when  we  rounded  the  corner,  the  look  of  vindic- 
tive hatred  still  upon  his  face. 

116 


SUCH    STUFF   AS    DREAMS 

"  Of  course  the  object  of  my  experiment  is  ap- 
parent to  you  now,"  said  the  doctor,  as  we  sped 
on  toward  the  steamer  pier;  "  I  wished  to  see  if 
you  recognized  the  Duggleby  house.  I  was  watch- 
ing you  rather  closely,  and  I  think  you  did  not. 
Am  I  right?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  it  was  quite  unfamiliar  to  me." 

"  The  encounter  with  Monsieur  Duggleby,"  he 
went  on,  "  was  quite  unlocked  for.  I  had  even 
taken  the  precaution  of  making  sure  he  was  out  of 
the  house  before  we  started." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  serious  harm  done, 
is  there?" 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  the  doctor  thoughtfully; 
"  he  is  a  resourceful  young  man — most  resource- 
ful." 

I  was  more  than  ever  inclined  to  agree  with  the 
doctor  an  hour  or  two  later  when,  standing  upon 
the  promenade  deck,  watching  with  interest  the 
process  of  getting  the  marine  leviathan  away  from 
her  berth,  I  saw  among  the  crowd  on  the  pier  that 
had  assembled  to  see  us  off,  the  figure  of  the  young 
man  in  question.  I  pointed  him  out  to  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  thoughtfully,  "  we  are  by  no 
means  done  with  him." 

We  had  almost  continuous  rough  weather,  but 
as  the  doctor  and  I  were  excellent  sailors,  this  fact 

117 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

did  not  detract  from  our  pleasure  in  the  voyage. 
Indeed,  if  anything,  it  added  to  it,  for  it  left  us 
the  decks  pretty  much  to  ourselves,  and  we  had  too 
much  to  think  about  and  discuss  to  care  for  other 
companionship.  Before  we  left  the  Hook,  our 
ship  settled  into  a  steady  roll,  which  drove  per- 
haps three  fourths  of  the  passengers  below,  and 
many  of  them  never  emerged  on  deck  until  we  had 
sighted  land  again. 

The  doctor  and  I  spent  our  days  either  in  buf- 
feting with  the  wind  and  spray  on  the  weather  side 
of  the  deck,  or  in  chatting  and  dozing  in  our 
steamer  chairs  in  a  sheltered  corner. 

I  found  the  light,  half  slumber,  such  as  one 
takes  in  a  steamer  chair,  more  conducive  to  dreams 
than  the  heavier  sleep  of  the  night.  In  fact,  my 
day  dreams  soon  came  to  have  an  almost  regular 
place  in  our  daily  programme.  Some  days,  for 
hours  at  a  stretch,  I  would  waken  from  one  dream 
adventure,  tell  it  to  the  doctor,  and  drift  off  forth- 
with into  another. 

"  They  are  curiously  difficult  to  classify,  these 
reminiscences  of  yours,  whether  you're  awake  or 
asleep,"  he  said  with  a  puzzled  air,  one  day.  "  You 
seem  to  sweep  pretty  much  the  whole  gamut  of 
society.  You  dream  of  squalid  streets,  of  hungry 
children,  of  lurid  places  full  of  smoke  and  flame 
and  half-naked  men  toiling  in  them,  and  the  next 

118 


SUCH    STUFF   AS    DREAMS 

moment  you  jump  to  what  appears,  from  the  de- 
scription, to  be  a  French  chateau ;  and  you  are  no 
better  when  you  are  awake.  You  were  sure  the 
Irish  pawnbroker  knew  you,  yet  you  instinctively 
gave  your  address  as  the  Holland  House.  Oh, 
it  will  all  fit  in,  I  dare  say,  but  it  makes  the  puzzle 
a  complicated  one." 

A  moment  later  he  asked,  quite  unexpectedly: 

"  By  the  way,  do  you  feel  particularly  at  home 
aboard  ship?  I  mean,  is  there  anything  about 
marine  architecture  that  strikes  you  as  particularly 
familiar?  " 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  Morton-Duggleby 
shipyard,  I  suppose,"  I  said. 

"  No  inferences,"  he  said  quickly. 

"  Well," I  said,"  I  do  know  my  way  about, but  I 
fancy  my  familiarity  is  no  more  than  a  few  trips  as 
a  passenger  in  transatlantic  liners  would  give  me." 

"  How  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Morton-Dug- 
gleby shipyard?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  read  about  it  in  a  magazine,"  said  I;  "  some- 
thing about  building  a  battleship." 

"  Well,  don't  read  any  more  magazines,"  he 
said,  almost  irritably,  "  until  we  get  to  Paris.  The 
ones  you  will  find  there  won't  do  you  any  harm." 

That  was  our  last  day  out,  a  much  calmer  one, 
by  the  way,  than  any  we  had  had  previously,  and 
for  the  first  time  my  view  of  the  horizon  was 
9  119 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

interrupted   by   a    steady    procession   of   passing 
figures. 

The  doctor  resumed  his  reading,  and  presently 
I  dozed  off  to  sleep.  The  dream  that  came  to  me 
in  that  half-submerged  slumber  was  one  I  shall 
never  forget.  It  was  nothing  much  to  tell  about, 
but  its  amazing  vividness  and  the  thing  that  hap-' 
pened  immediately  upon  my  waking  from  it,  are 
enough  to  write  it  indelibly  across  my  memory. 

I  was  in  a  small,  very  plainly  furnished  room, 
kept  with  extraordinary  neatness,  which  evidently 
served  as  a  general  living  room  for  more  than  one 
person.  A  simple  supper,  with  places  laid  for 
three,  was  spread  in  the  center  of  it,  beneath  a 
shaded  lamp.  I  was  seated  at  a  small,  upright 
piano  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  at  my  right 
hand,  and  facing  me,  She  sat,  the  lady  of  my 
dreams,  the  girl  whose  face  I  had  seen  through  the 
cab  window. 

There  was  an  anxious  look  in  her  face,  and  at 
last,  giving  over  pretending  not  to  notice  it,  I 
stopped  playing. 

"  Don't  worry  about  it,  Virginia,"  said  I;  and 
that  was  the  first  time  in  all  those  dreams  that  ever 
I  had  found  a  name  for  her.  What  "  it "  was, 
I  did  not  know. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  "  I  shouldn't;  at  least  I 
shouldn't  let  him  see  I  am  worrying." 

1 20 


SUCH    STUFF   AS    DREAMS 

Before  I  could  answer  her,  we  heard  a  step  on 
the  stairs. 

"  There  he  comes,"  she  said,  and  then  called 
out,  with  assumed  gayety: 

"  Supper's  been  waiting  for  you  ever  so  long, 
father.  I  am  in  doubt  if  I  will  give  you  any." 

It  was  an  old  man  who  entered,  an  old  man 
with  a  long  gray  beard,  and  the  sight  of  his  face 
horrified  me.  It  was  blazing  with  anger,  but  be- 
neath the  anger  I  could  see,  strongly  marked,  the 
lines  of  despair. 

"  They  have  tried  to  steal  my  secret,"  he  cried. 
"  They  rifled  my  laboratory  last  night." 

I  wakened  at  that,  and  sleepily  sat  half  erect 
in  my  steamer  chair.  Then,  with  a  start,  I  leaned 
forward,  sank  back  again,  and  rubbed  my  hand 
over  my  eyes.  Had  I  truly  wakened  after  all? 

There,  passing  right  in  front  of  me,  was  the  man 
with  the  long  gray  beard.  A  woman  was  walking 
beside  him,  on  the  side  away  from  me,  where  I 
could  see  no  more  of  her  than  an  elbow  and  a 
wind-blown  skirt.  Trembling  so  that  I  could 
hardly  stand,  I,  nevertheless,  managed  to  get  to 
my  feet  and  look  after  them. 

She  was  there!  Virginia,  the  woman  of  my 
dreams.  Unless,  indeed,  I  was  dreaming  still,  or 
unless — unless  I  was  mad,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   ORDEAL 

I   TURNED  to  the  doctor,  my  face  working 
with  uncontrollable  agitation. 

"Do  you  see  them?"  I  asked  wildly,  "those 
two  figures  walking  there?  An  old  man  and  his 
daughter?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  I  see  them,"  said  the  doctor 
quietly.  "Why  not?" 

"  And  they  have  been  here  all  the  while,  passen- 
gers on  board  this  ship  with  us?  It  is  impos- 
sible!" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  doctor.  "  We  are  see- 
ing plenty  of  new  faces  to-day.  The  bad  weather 
has  kept  them  below,  that's  all.  Do  you  recognize 
them?" 

He  spoke  with  as  little  apparent  interest  as 
though  we  had  been  talking  about  the  weather. 
But  it  would  have  taken  more  than  a  quiet  manner 
to  calm  the  mad  whirl  of  my  thoughts  just  then. 

"  I  was  dreaming  of  them,"  said  I,  "  dreaming 
of  Virginia  and  her  father,  and  then  I  opened  my 
eyes  and  saw  them  standing  before  me." 

122 


THE    ORDEAL 

"  Is  she  the  young  lady  you  have  dreamed  about 
before?  "  he  asked  calmly.  Then,  as  I  only  stared 
at  him,  he  added: 

"  You  had  never  told  me  her  name." 

I  dropped  back  limp  in  my  chair. 

"  I  suppose  I  couldn't  have  told  you  her  name 
before,"  said  I.  "  It  came  to  me  in  the  dream  and 
I  repeated  it  unconsciously." 

From  a  pocket  in  his  coat  the  doctor  drew  out 
a  passenger  list,  and  began  a  methodical  examina- 
tion of  it. 

"  There  is  a  Miss  Virginia  on  board,  certainly. 
Her  father's  name  is  Heatherfield.  Does  that 
bring  anything  back  to  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  and  my  voice  broke  in  a  sob  of 
despair. 

"Softly,  softly,"  said  the  doctor;  "we  are  not 
asking  for  miracles,  you  know.  When  your  mem- 
ories classify  themselves  and  become  consistent,  my 
task  will  be  done.  Be  glad  of  the  name  you  know, 
and  don't  despair  over  the  one  you  have  forgotten. 
The  fact  that  you  don't  know  your  own  doesn't 
trouble  you." 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  for  a  deck  steward 
stood  before  us,  offering  beef  tea.  I  shook  my 
head  in  refusal  of  it,  but  the  doctor  ruled  other- 
wise. 

"  Drink  it,"  he  said,  "  and  then  get  yourself 
123 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

together.     I  want  you  composed  to  try  an  experi- 
ment." 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  asked  unsteadily;  but  already 
I  was  doing  his  bidding. 

"  Simply  to  indulge  in  a  short  promenade  here 
on  the  deck  with  me,"  he  answered. 

As  I  foresaw,  we  set  out  in  a  direction  opposite 
to  that  taken  by  the  two  figures  of  my  dream,  and 
the  object  of  the  experiment  was  to  see  if  we  could 
detect  in  them  any  corresponding  recognition  of 
me.  I  felt  my  whole  fate  was  hanging  in  the  bal- 
ance ;  the  whole  question,  whether  I  was  essentially 
a  sane  man  or  a  lunatic.  If  they  knew  me,  then, 
of  course,  I  was  a  sane  man.  More  than  that,  it 
would  mean  that  my  search  for  my  lost  identity 
was  at  an  end,  or  practically  so. 

The  other  alternative,  I  hardly  dared  contem- 
plate. If  they  were  to  walk  past  me  on  the  deck 
without  a  sign,  it  would  make  it  almost  certain  that 
my  identification  of  them  with  persons  who  had  be- 
longed in  my  almost  obliterated  past  was  the  mere 
delusion  of  a  madman. 

They  were  coming  down  the  deck  toward  us 
now.  Rapidly  the  distance  was  narrowed,  to  ten 
paces,  to  five.  Now  we  were  almost  face  to  face ; 
and  now  I  was  searching  those  faces  with  an  eager- 
ness that  must  almost  have  cried  aloud  from  my 
agonized  eyes. 

124 


THE    ORDEAL 

For  an  instant  her  glance  rested  on  my  face.  A 
very  faint  flush  colored  her  cheeks.  Her  finely 
marked,  expressive  brows  moved  a  little  with  dis- 
dainful annoyance  under  my  undisguised  stare. 
And  that  was  all. 

They  were  gone !  In  her  mind  I  figured  at  this 
moment  simply  as  an  underbred,  impertinent  young 
person,  who  stared  in  an  unmannerly  way  at  pretty 
girls. 

The  doctor's  strong,  steady  arm  locked  itself  in 
mine  to  give  me  support,  and  God  knows  I  need- 
ed it. 

I  walked  on  stiffly  like  an  automaton.  When 
we  got  opposite  where  our  chairs  were,  I  stopped, 
but  the  doctor,  with  a  light  pressure  on  my  arm, 
signified  that  I  was  to  keep  on  walking. 

"  Not  again,"  I  said;  "  I  can't  do  it  again." 

"  Think  a  minute,"  said  he.  "  Think  how  your 
appearance  must  be  changed.  You  look  like  an 
authentic  Frenchman;  you  are  walking  with  one 
whose  authenticity  cannot  be  denied.  You  have  a 
French  name  on  the  passenger  list.  Don't  look  at 
them  when  we  meet  again,  but  talk,  talk  to  me 
casually,  about  anything  at  all.  Tell  me  how  you 
escaped  from  Dr.  Berry's  asylum,  or  how  you 
played  the  piano  at  Coney  Island.  And  talk  in 
English,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I 
had  nearly  forgotten  that  detail  myself." 

125 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

Again  they  were  approaching  us  down  the  deck. 

"  Don't  look  at  them,"  he  repeated;  "  trust  me 
for  that." 

Somehow,  I  do  not  know  how,  I  managed  to 
rally  my  faculties  for  this  second  ordeal.  I  felt  my- 
self moving  forward  with  the  casual  gait  of  a  mere 
stroller  upon  the  deck.  I  found  myself  talking  in 
English,  though  I  have  no  idea  at  all  what  it  was 
I  said.  Again,  the  distance  narrowed  between  us. 
Still  my  voice  kept  its  even,  casual,  conversational 
accent. 

The  doctor  often  said  that  we  must  not  ask  for 
miracles,  but  certainly  he  asked  one  from  me  then, 
and  some  power  gave  me  the  ability  to  perform  it. 
Owing  to  the  direction  of  the  wind,  they  had  come 
within  two  paces  of  us  before  the  sound  of  my 
voice  fairly  reached  their  ears. 

When  it  did,  they  stopped  with  one  accord,  and 
now  it  was  they  who  stared,  stared  as  if  it  had  been 
the  figure  of  one  long  dead  that  stood  before  them. 
I  did  not  look,  could  not  look,  for  the  whole  world 
was  whirling  around  me  in  a  mad  reel. 

The  gentle  compulsion  of  the  doctor's  arm 
walked  me  on,  and  in  a  second  we  had  passed  them. 
He  has  told  me  since,  though  I  find  it  difficult  to 
believe,  that  my  voice  never  broke;  that  the  even 
flow  of  my  narrative  never  faltered  until  they  were 
out  of  hearing,  behind  us. 

126  . 


THE    ORDEAL 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  as  we  dropped  into  our 
chairs  again,  "  that  is  settled.  Those  people  know 
you,  the  real  you  that  we  are  trying  to  find.  I 
would  raise  my  hand  in  affirmation  of  that  before  a 
crucifix." 

For  once  his  quiet  professional  reserve  had 
melted.  There  was  a  thrill  of  excitement  in  his 
voice  which  matched  my  own.  He  drew  a  little 
flask  of  cognac  from  his  pocket. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  I  think  we  both  deserve  a 
little  drink  on  the  strength  of  that." 

Presently,  however,  he  undertook  to  moderate  a 
little  the  transports  of  hope  which  the  look  in  my 
face  and  the  excited  inflection  of  my  voice  betrayed. 

"  Don't  promise  yourself  too  much,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  think  that  this  mystery  of  yours  is  going  to 
be  solved  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  To  do  that 
is  simply  to  court  disappointment." 

"But  they  know  me,"  I  insisted  vehemently; 
"  you  yourself  admit  as  much,  said  you  would 
swear  to  it.  You  cannot  believe  that  they  would 
refuse  to  tell?" 

He  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  moment  of  si- 
lence I  went  on: 

"  Unless  you  believe  that  they,  like  the  Duggle- 
bys,  are  among  the  number  of  my  enemies ;  unless 
you  believe  that  that  girl,  a  girl  who  looks  out  on 
the  world  with  those  eyes,  could  bear  a  deliberate 

127 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

part  in  the  conspiracy  to  rob  me  of  myself,  and 
that's  unthinkable." 

Still  he  was  silent. 

"  Isn't  it  unthinkable?  "  I  persisted. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  not  the  only  alter- 
native." 

"  I  can  conceive  of  no  other." 

"  It  is  possible,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  that  this 
Mr.  Heatherfield  and  his  daughter  regard  you,  in 
turn,  as  one  of  their  enemies." 

"  How  could  that  be?  "  I  demanded. 

"  When  I  know  that,"  he  said  gravely,  "  I  shall 
know  your  secret." 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  went  on,  "  you  can  hardly  go 
to  this  gentleman  and  ask  him  if  he  will  not  be 
good  enough  to  tell  you  your  own  name.  The  sit- 
uation requires  tact  and  some  slight  preliminary 
acquaintance.  Remember,  too,  that  we  expect  to 
land  within  a  few  hours. 

"  I  am  not  trying  to  discourage  you,"  he  con- 
cluded, seeing  how  my  face  had  fallen  at  these  con- 
siderations. "  We  have  really  made  an  inestimable 
gain,  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  disheartened  in 
case  the  solution  of  your  problem  should  prove  to 
be  not  quite  the  simple  matter  that  it  looks." 

In  spite  of  the  obvious  wisdom  of  his  counsels, 
it  was  some  little  time  before  I  could  bring  myself 
to  the  point  of  accepting  them. 

128 


THE    ORDEAL 

The  course  we  finally  agreed  upon  was  that  I 
should  wait  for  a  chance  to  approach  Mr.  Heather- 
field  when  he  was  alone,  and  begin  a  conversation 
with  him,  after  the  manner  of  casual  deck  acquaint- 
ances. If  I  could  succeed  in  doing  this,  and  should 
find  him  kindly  disposed  toward  me,  then  I  might 
tell  him  as  much  of  my  story  as  was  necessary,  and 
ask  him  my  great  question. 

Of  course  it  was  indispensable  to  such  a  pro- 
gramme that  I  should  approach  him  at  a  moment 
when  his  daughter  was  not  at  his  side.  The  two 
seemed  to  be  absolutely  inseparable,  and  one  after 
another  of  the  precious  hours  crept  away,  driving 
me  almost  into  a  frenzy  of  impatience,  as  they  de- 
nied me  the  precious  opportunity  I  sought. 

Well  along  in  the  afternoon,  however,  when  the 
sight  of  our  tender  approaching  from  the  harbor  at 
Cherbourg  almost  drove  me  to  disregard  the  doc- 
tor's advice  and  chance  everything  on  more  drastic 
measures,  at  that  final  moment  the  opportunity 
came. 

She  left  him  to  go  in  momentary  search  for 
something,  and  would  doubtless  be  back  almost  be- 
fore I  could  begin  the  conversation  I  hoped  to  draw 
him  into.  He  was  standing  at  the  rail,  gazing 
landward,  with  thoughtful  eyes,  troubled  eyes  I 
imagined,  in  an  abstraction  which  it  seemed  an  im- 
pertinence to  break.  Indeed,  I  took  my  place  at 

129 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

the  rail  beside  him  without  his  appearing  to  be 
aware  of  my  presence. 

"  There  is  some  compensation  for  our  stormy 
voyage  in  a  day  like  this,"  said  I. 

The  sound  of  my  voice  and  my  presence  there 
at  his  elbow  seemed  to  startle  him.  The  look  he 
cast  at  me  brought  vividly  to  my  memory  the  doc- 
tors hypothesis  that  they  might  regard  me  as  an 
enemy.  He  barely  answered  my  question  with  a 
curt  monosyllable,  and  turned  as  if  to  move  away, 
but  I  had  too  much  at  stake  to  be  easily  discour- 
aged. 

"  It  is  rather  tantalizing,  though,  this  pleasant 
day,"  I  went  on,  "  coming  right  at  the  end  of  the 
voyage  as  it  does.  It  only  serves  to  show  us  how 
many  opportunities  for  pleasant  acquaintanceship 
we  have  lost." 

He  wheeled  upon  me,  dignified,  irate,  formi- 
dable. 

"  There  are  some  of  us,  sir,  who  neither  lament 
those  lost  opportunities,  as  you  term  them,  nor  de- 
sire to  make  up  for  them  now." 

His  meaning  was  too  pointed  to  be  disregarded, 
yet  in  my  despair  at  the  thought  of  letting  them  go 
away  out  of  my  knowledge,  carrying  my  secret  with 
them,  I  made  one  more  attempt.  I  dropped  all 
pretense  at  merely  casual  conversation. 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  said  I,  very  gravely,  "  that  you 
130 


THE    ORDEAL 

are  not  among  those  who  feel  that  way,  at  least 
as  regards  myself.  I  have  a  most  serious  reason 
for  wishing  to  become  acquainted  with  you." 

He  gave  me  a  long,  searching  look.  Suspicion 
was  fully  alight  in  his  eyes  now,  and  anger  spoke 
in  the  tone  of  his  deep  voice. 

"  If  you  do  not  know  me  already,"  he  said,  "  if 
you  are  indeed  the  stranger  to  me  that  you  wish  to 
appear,  then  permit  me  to  tell  you  that  you  are  an 
impertinent  intruder.  If,  on  the  other  hand  " — and 
now,  though  he  lowered  his  voice,  anger  spoke 
louder  in  it  than  it  had  spoken  in  it  before — yes, 
and  dread,  too — "  if,  on  the  other  hand,  you  are 
the  man  whom  I  suspect  you  to  be,  a  man  who 
knows  me  well,  then  let  me  tell  you  that  I  know 
you,  also,  know  you  for  the  coward  and  knave  that 
you  are." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  I,  "  my  impertinence  and  my 
intrusion  I  can  scarcely  deny.  It  is  so  if  you  regard 
it  so." 

He  was  looking  at  me  with  a  puzzled  expression 
that  caused  me  to  interrupt  myself.  The  next  mo- 
ment I  realized  that,  in  my  excitement,  I  was  speak- 
ing in  French  instead  of  English.  I  apologized, 
and  repeated  my  words  in  a  language  he  could  un- 
derstand. 

"  As  to  my  being  a  coward  and  a  knave,"  I  con- 
cluded, "  you  can  only  have  applied  such  terms  to 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT    A    SHADOW 

me  under  a  serious  misapprehension.  For  my  in- 
trusion, since  it  has  seemed  such  to  you,  I  make  my 
apology." 

As  I  turned  away  to  leave  him,  I  found  myself 
standing  face  to  face  with  Virginia.  In  that  mo- 
ment, as  our  eyes  met,  there  flashed  across  between 
them  an  instantaneous  electrical  recognition.  It 
was  literally  papable.  I  felt  it  tingling  clear  to  my 
finger  tips,  and  I  think  she  must  have  felt  it,  too, 
for  a  wave  of  glowing,  transparent  color  came 
surging  up  into  her  face,  bathing  it  from  neck  to 
forehead.  When  her  eyes  wavered  away  from 
mine  and  sought  her  father's,  it  was  as  if  her  will 
power  had  been  barely  sufficient  to  enable  her  to 
look  away.  But  then,  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come, 
the  glow  died  out  and  left  her  very  pale,  paler 
than  she  had  been  before.  Her  eyes  widened  with 
wonder,  with  dread,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  me, 
for  the  space  of  one  heart  beat,  with  hope  as 
well,  as  she  scanned  her  father's  face  and  mine 
alternately. 

It  was  absolutely  impossible  that  I  remain.  Her 
father's  reception  of  my  advances  settled  that.  I 
bowed  gravely  to  him,  and  then  to  her  as  I  took 
my  leave;  and  as  I  did  so,  in  that  last  glance  at 
her,  I  saw  that  all  the  light  had  died  out  of  her 
face,  and  in  its  stead  had  come  a  look  of  abstrac- 
tion. It  was  as  if  I  was  forgotten — I  and  her 

132 


THE    ORDEAL 

father,  too ;  as  if  her  thoughts  had  suddenly  gone 
voyaging  half  a  world  away. 

I  had  returned  to  my  steamer  chair  and  was  in 
the  act  of  reporting  to  the  doctor  the  complete  fail- 
ure of  my  attempt,  when  he  checked  me  with  an 
imperative  signal,  and  turning,  I  saw  her  coming 
toward  us.  Her  manner  made  it  plain  that  she 
was  coming  to  speak  to  me,  so  I  rose  and  went  to 
meet  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  owe  you  an  apology,  mon- 
sieur," she  said,  "  or,  perhaps,  not  so  much  an  apol- 
ogy as  an  explanation.  My  father — "  She  hesi- 
tated an  instant  and  glanced  behind  her,  in  evident 
apprehension  lest  he  should  come  upon  us  in  con- 
versation together.  Then  she  went  on  more  col- 
lectedly: "  My  father  has  had  many  troubles  of 
late,  troubles  heavier  than  a  man  of  his  age  should 
be  called  upon  to  endure.  He  believes  he  owes 
them,  or  many  of  them,  to  a  man  whom  we 
thought,  whom  I,  at  least,  thought — dead."  Her 
voice  quivered  a  little  over  the  word,  and  it  was 
with  obvious  difficulty  that  she  got  it  under  control 
again. 

'  You  have  reminded  my  father — yes,  and  me, 
too — somewhat  strongly  of  that  man." 

Her  eyes  were  widening  as  she  looked  at  me. 
"  I  am  afraid,"  she  went  on  breathlessly,  "  that 
that  resemblance  may  have  caused  you  some  em- 

133 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

barrassment.  I  hope  that  this  explanation — will 
serve  for  an  apology." 

Had  I  been  the  cool,  collected  man  I  wished  to 
be,  I  never  would  have  uttered  the  question  that 
rose  to  my  lips;  but  standing  there,  face  to  face 
with  her,  her  voice  thrilling  me  with  every  word  it 
uttered,  I  was  far  from  cool. 

"  If,"  said  I,  "  if  I  were  indeed  the  man  whom 
you  thought  dead " 

She  caught  her  breath  in  a  great  gasp,  and  once 
more  the  color  came  blazing  into  her  cheeks. 

"  You — you  mean —  But  you  cannot  be  that 
man !  You  cannot !  " 

And  yet  eyes  and  voice,  the  agonized  question- 
ing in  her  tone,  belied  the  certainty  of  her  asser- 
tion. 

"If  you  were  he — if  you  were  that  man  whom  I 
thought  dead,  you  would  not  dare  to  stand  before 
me  now  and  look  into  my  face,  mine  or  my  father's. 
Or  if  you  did,  if  there  was  some  reason  which  we 
do  not  understand " 

Her  voice  faltered  and  stopped,  but  her  hands 
completed  her  meaning  more  expressively  than  any 
words  could  have  done,  for  she  had  stretched  them 
out  to  me,  eager,  imploring. 

But  the  next  instant,  by  sheer  will  power 
and  with  the  aid  of  a  couple  of  deep-drawn 
breaths,  she  recovered  her  self-control.  Her  hands 

134 


dropped  to  her  sides  and  she  forced  a  smile  to 
her  lips. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  "  I  was  very  near  re- 
peating the  offense  I  came  to  apologize  for,  but  I 
will  not  make  you  suffer  a  second  time  for  a  chance 
resemblance  of  which  you  are  as  innocent  as  I. 
You  will  pardon  us,  monsieur?  " 

Before  I  could  force  an  answer  to  my  lips,  she 
was  gone,  and  I — I  was  left  in  a  daze  behind.  I 
had  found  her,  my  dream  girl.  Every  inflection 
of  her  beautiful  voice  doubled  the  strong  assur* 
ance  I  had  already. 

I  had  found  her !  She  was  she,  and  I  was  I ;  and 
yet  if  that  were  true,  I  was  her  enemy.  No,  not  I; 
the  lost  man  I  had  been.  Standing  there  with  my 
elbows  on  the  rail,  I  buried  my  face  in  my  hands. 
But  at  last  I  roused  myself. 

"  Thank  God  for  the  French  doctor,"  said  I. 
His  strong,  cool  intelligence  was  the  only  stable 
thing  in  all  my  universe. 


10 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A   CASTLE   IN   SPAIN 

WE  had  not  been  in  Paris  half  an  hour  be- 
fore I  satisfied  the  doctor  that  I  knew  the 
city,   as  he  expressed  it,   "  like  the  palm  of  my 
hand." 

Almost  every  other  minute  during  our  long  cab 
drive  from  the  Gare  du  Nord  to  his  apartment 
overlooking  the  Seine  and  the  Quai  St.  Michel,  I 
had  recognized  and  instinctively  called  by  their 
right  names  the  interesting  streets,  squares,  and 
public  buildings  of  that  lovely  city. 

The  doctor  hailed  every  one  of  these  discoveries 
with  a  delight  which  showed  me  how  seriously  he 
would  have  been  disappointed  had  I  failed  in  this 
particular. 

I  put  the  capstone  upon  his  enthusiasm  when  he 
told  me  that  he  was  planning  to  dine  at  one  of  the 
restaurants  on  his  way  home.  It  was  his  usual 
practice,  he  said,  for  he  detested  dining  in  solitary 
state  in  his  bachelor's  apartment,  which  was  the 
only  home  he  possessed. 

136 


A    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN 

"  In  that  case,"  said  I,  signaling  the  driver  to 
stop,  as  I  spoke  the  word,  "  we  cannot  do  better 
than  to  dine  right  here." 

The  doctor  laughed  like  a  boy. 

"  No  truer  word  was  ever  spoken,"  said  he. 
For  the  place  I  had  indicated  was  a  little  restaurant 
which  makes  up  for  its  modest  pretensions  by  a 
world-wide  reputation  among  true  epicures.  The 
average  tourist,  with  his  nose  in  a  Baedeker,  goes 
by  it  without  a  glance. 

When  the  serious  business  of  ordering  dinner 
was  out  of  the  way — and  it  may  be  noted  that  the 
doctor  delegated  this  task  to  me — we  settled  down 
to  talk  over  our  plans  for  the  future. 

"  Your  evident  knowledge  of  the  city,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  makes  our  course,  for  the  next  few  days, 
at  least,  a  plain  one.  I  mean  to  leave  you  to  your- 
self. I  want  you  to  assume  the  most  irresponsible, 
care- free  attitude  of  mind  of  which  you  are  capable, 
and  wander  about  the  streets  alone  wherever  your 
fancy  or  your  instinct  takes  you." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  guarantee  the  care-free 
mind,"  said  I,  "  but  I  will  do  my  best." 

The  doctor's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  It  won't  be  so  hard  as  you  think,"  said  he; 
"  Paris  is  Paris,  and  you  are  a  well-dressed,  pre- 
sentable young  man  with  money  in  your  pocket. 
From  time  immemorial,  this  city  and  young  men» 

137 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

such  as  I  describe  you  to  be,  have  proved  mutually 
attractive.  Don't  seriously  try  to  make  discov- 
eries, but  when  you  see  an  omnibus  that  has  a  fa- 
miliar look,  climb  up  on  the  roof  of  it  and  ride 
until  you  feel  like  climbing  down.  When  you  hear 
the  name  of  a  place  that  sounds  familiar,  hop  into 
a  cab  and  drive  there.  That  may  seem  a  rather 
methodless  course  of  procedure  to  you,  but  I  shall 
"be  surprised  if  we  do  not  develop  something  valu- 
able that  way." 

"  Likely  enough,"  said  I ;  "  but  it  seems  to  me 
the  time  you  allow  for  it  is  rather  short.  If  you 
had  said  a  month,  I  should  feel  more  sanguine." 

'  That  is  quite  true,"  said  the  doctor;  "  but  by 
the  end  of  the  week  I  shall  feel  strongly  disinclined 
to  let  you  go  wandering  about  this  city  without  a 
companion." 

"  You  mystify  me  completely,"  I  exclaimed. 
"  Why  should  Paris  be  safe  for  me  the  first  week 
and  unsafe  thereafter?  " 

"  There  is  too  little  mystery  about  it,"  he  said. 
"  We  are  quite  sure,  you  and  I,  that  we  saw  your 
friend  Mr.  Duggleby  left  safely  behind  us  on  the 
pier  when  the  steamer  sailed.  We  are  quite  sure 
that  he  did  not  take  the  same  ship.  No  other  fast 
ship  sailed  from  New  York  till  Saturday.  There- 
fore, I  think  it  very  doubtful  that  any  serious  at- 
tempt will  be  made  upon  your  personal  safety  be- 

138 


A    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN 

fore  either  Mr.  Duggleby  himself  or  a  letter  from 
him  can  reach  Paris.  He  would  hardly  attempt  to 
negotiate  such  a  matter  by  cable.  Allow  that  he 
or  his  letter  reaches  Paris  next  Sunday,  and  then 
add  two  or  three  days  more  for  the  delay  he  or  his 
agents  would  probably  experience  in  finding  out 
your  whereabouts,  and  you  have  the  week  of  com- 
parative security  that  I  spoke  of." 

"  Do  you  seriously  imagine — "  I  began,  but  he 
interrupted  me  brusquely. 

"  I  seriously  think,"  he  said,  "  that  the  only 
thing  which  can  baffle  us  in  our  search  for  your 
lost  identity,  the  only  absolutely  fatal  blunder  we 
could  make,  would  result  from  a  too-negligent  dis- 
missal of  that  very  remarkable  young  man  from 
our  calculations.  We  can  defeat  him,  we  can  out- 
wit him,  but  a  man  who  can  sober  himself  out  of 
an  advanced  state  of  intoxication  by  sheer  will 
power,  a  man  who  can  think  quickly  enough  and 
act  courageously  enough  to  do  the  thing  he  did 
after  I  disabled  his  automobile  that  night  on  the 
road,  that  man  is  not  one  to  be  neglected." 

I  had  a  feeling,  inevitable  perhaps  to  one  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  temper  of  mind,  that  the  doctor's  esti- 
mate of  young  Duggleby  was  a  little  theatrical, 
even  melodramatic,  but  a  few  moments'  quiet 
thought,  which  his  Gallic  tact  took  care  not  to  in- 
terrupt, convinced  me  that  he  was  probably  more 

139 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

nearly  right  than  I.     His  judgment,  at  any  rate, 
would  lead  one  to  err  on  the  safe  side. 

"  Well,"  said  I  finally,  "  I  promise  you  this:  he 
may  beat  me,  but  if  he  does,  it  will  be  face  to  face. 
He  shall  never  have  another  chance  to  pinion  my 
arms  from  behind." 

"  Good,"  said  the  doctor.  "  And  now  as  a  re- 
ward for  your  docility,  I  will  tell  you  something; 
I  will  tell  you  something  which  I  hope  will  bright- 
en a  little  the  cloud  which  I  have  seen  hanging  over 
you  like  a  thundercloud  ever  since  we  lost  sight  of 
the  venerable  Mr.  Heatherfield  and  his  charming 
daughter." 

"  You  know  where  they  are?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  Thanks  to  a  little  innocent  eavesdropping,  I 
do,"  he  replied.  '  They  are  here  in  Paris.  I  know 
the  address  of  the  pension  where  they  are  stopping, 
and  I  infer  from  the  fact  that  it  is  a  pension  in- 
stead of  a  hotel,  that  their  stay  will  be  of  moder- 
ately long  duration." 

"  Where  is  it?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

He  smiled  in  a  rather  staid,  elderly  way  over 
my  enthusiasm. 

"  When  one  places  a  compass  in  a  ship,"  he  said, 
"  one  takes  care  not  to  place  a  magnet  too  near  it. 
I  want  you  to  discover  your  own  Paris,  not  to  ro- 
tate in  the  orbit  of  a  planet  about  a  certain  number 
on  a  certain  street." 

140 


A    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN 

I  was  none  too  well  pleased  with  his  decision,  but 
I  saw  the  justice  of  it  and  said  so. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,"  he  said  affectionately, 
"  and  you  may  be  sure  of  this :  I  shall  keep  careful 
watch.  If  they  change  their  place  of  residence,  I 
shall  know  it.  You  shall  not  lose  them  again ;  you 
may  trust  me  for  that." 

Three  days  later,  over  the  same  little  table,  in 
the  same  restaurant,  I  reported  progress  to  the  doc- 
tor. I  had  seen  little  of  him  in  the  interval,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  I  had  spent  every  day,  from 
early  morning,  or  what  passes  for  early  morning 
in  Paris,  until  late  at  night,  which  is  very  late  in- 
deed, in  driving  about  the  city  in  accordance  with 
his  instructions.  As  a  result  of  this,  I  had  come  to 
a  certain  curious  conclusion,  of  which  I  wished  to 
inform  the  doctor. 

"  I  have  been  a  model  tourist,"  said  I.  "  I  am 
confident  that  no  man  at  present  within  the  circle 
of  the  fortifications  has  spent  so  idly  busy,  or  so 
busily  idle,  a  three  days.  I  have  wandered  from 
Pere  Lachaise  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne;  from  the 
Lion  of  Belfort  to  Montmartre.  I  have  visited  the 
Louvre  and  the  Moulin  Rouge,  and  pretty  much 
everything  that  comes  between.  In  the  course  of 
my  wanderings,  I  have  found  what  is,  beyond 
doubt,  the  most  attractive  place  in  Paris  to  me; 
to  the  instinctive  man,  that  is,  whom  I  have  been 

141 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

trying  to  experiment  with.  I  will  give  you  a  mil- 
lion guesses  as  to  what  that  most  attractive  place 
is." 

"  As  if  I  had  the  patience  to  waste  even  three," 
said  the  doctor.  "  Tell  me." 

"  A  railway  station,"  said  I;  "  the  Orleans  sta- 
tion on  the  Quai  d'Orsay." 

The  doctor's  face  fell,  as  I  was  sure  it  would. 

"  I  am  disappointed  in  you,"  he  said,  half  play- 
fully. "  The  inference  is  all  too  clear.  The  man 
you  were  had  not  the  good  taste  to  live  in  Paris,  as 
he  undoubtedly  might  have  done.  Well,  we  must 
follow  your  elusive  self,  if  it  takes  us  to  the  world's 
end.  Have  you  any  plan  for  setting  about  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I;  "  it  is  a  very  simple  one,  but  I 
think  it  ought  to  work.  I  shall  have  to  trespass 
upon  an  hour  of  your  time  to-morrow  morning, 
though." 

"  An  hour!  "  he  said.  "  But  I  am  going  with 
you." 

"  No,  that  will  not  be  necessary,"  I  assured  him. 
"  All  that  I  shall  need  of  you  is  your  company  to 
the  station  and  your  highly  diverting  conversation 
up  to  the  moment  when  I  ask  the  man  inside  the 
window  for  my  ticket.  I  want  to  approach  that 
window  without  a  single  idea  of  my  journey  or  my 
possible  destination  in  my  mind.  Of  course,  if  my 
instinctive  self  fails  to  come  up  to  the  scratch  at 

142 


A    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN 

the  critical  moment,  we  shall  have  to  follow  some 
other  and  more  laborious  course,  but  if  the  name 
of  some  city  on  the  railway  line  does  pop  into  my 
mind  at  the  critical  moment,  I  shall  be  able  to  ex- 
plore that  place,  wherever  it  may  be,  quite  as  well 
without  your  help  as  with  it." 

He  assented  enthusiastically  to  the  plan  as  a 
whole,  but  demurred  a  little  to  the  last  part  of  it. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  he  admitted  grudg- 
ingly, "  though  I  should  have  liked  an  excuse  to 
run  off  with  you." 

"  You  may  get  it  before  I  am  very  many  hours 
away,"  said  I.  "  If  I  find  I  need  you,  I  shall  tele- 
graph." 

With  that  proviso,  he  assented  heartily  to  my 
plan,  and  the  next  morning  we  put  it  into  opera- 
tion. 

As  I  had  learned  from  previous  experience  con- 
fidently to  expect,  my  lost  inner  self  responded  in- 
stantly to  the  test  I  had  put  upon  it.  I  had  taken 
my  place  in  the  line  before  the  window,  chatting 
enthusiastically  with  the  doctor  about  a  certain 
singer  who  was  making  her  reputation  at  the 
Opera  Comique,  my  mind  in  a  state  of  perfect 
blank  as  to  my  present  surroundings.  When  I 
reached  the  wicket,  I  confidently  shoved  thirty 
francs  across  the  counter  to  the  man  inside,  and 
said: 

143 


"  One  first  class  to  Tours." 

I  had  accepted  the  ticket  and  the  change  which 
he  returned  to  me,  and  come  away  from  the  win- 
dow, my  mind  still  so  fully  occupied  with  the  previ- 
ous subject  of  our  conversation,  that  I  failed  to 
realize  how  completely  the  experiment  had  worked, 
until  the  excitement  shining  in  the  doctor's  face 
recalled  it  to  me. 

There  was  an  express  starting  almost  at  once,  so 
I  took  my  leave  of  the  doctor,  promising  to  return 
soon  in  any  case,  and  to  telegraph  for  him  the  mo- 
ment I  felt  his  presence  would  be  of  the  slightest 
assistance  to  me. 

I  was  conscious  during  that  four  hours'  ride  to 
Tours  of  an  excitement  that  mounted  higher  and 
higher  in  my  veins  as  we  rushed  on  through  the 
strangely  familiar  landscape.  At  every  stop  we 
made,  the  hoarse  voices  of  the  men  on  the  plat- 
form, proclaiming  the  names  of  the  stations,  re- 
called new  floods  of  memories.  The  picture  of  the 
home,  which  I  had  crossed  the  seas  to  seek,  etched 
itself  more  vividly  and  in  more  minute  detail  upon 
my  mind. 

When  I  dismounted  from  the  train  at  Tours,  I 
was  so  excited  that  I  could  hardly  hold  myself 
back  to  accompany  the  languid  pace  of  the  porter 
to  whom  I  handed  my  bag. 

One  sensible  consideration  did  occur  to  me.  I 
144 


A    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN 

stopped  in  the  station  long  enough  to  deposit  the 
bag  in  the  cloakroom  and  to  take  a  check  for  it. 
Where  my  explorations  were  going  to  take  me,  I, 
of  course,  had  no  idea,  but  I  felt  reasonably  sure 
that  I  should  return  to  Tours  for  the  night. 

I  feed  my  porter,  thrust  the  check  for  my  bag 
into  a  pocket,  along  with  my  loose  change,  and 
hurried  out  to  spring  into  the  nearest  cab. 

"  Rue  Nationale,"  I  said  to  the  driver,  "  and  out 
across  the  stone  bridge.  After  that,  I  will  tell 
you." 

Paris  had  been  familiar,  exceedingly  so;  but 
Paris  was  nothing  to  this.  Over  nearly  every  shop 
front  was  a  name  that  went  to  my  heart  like  the 
hand  clasp  of  an  old  friend.  The  very  signs  on  the 
tram  cars,  as  they  went  filing  past  me  on  their  sin- 
gle track,  tooting  their  absurd  little  horns,  were 
poignant  with  association. 

By  the  time  we  had  reached  the  end  of  the  street 
and  passed  between  the  two  seated  monumental 
figures  that  flanked  the  approach  to  the  bridge,  the 
tears  were  streaming  down  my  face,  and  every 
nerve  in  my  body  was  tingling.  Ah !  I  had  nearly 
reached  my  journey's  end  now,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  that. 

The  broad,  rambling  Loire,  with  its  low,  sandy 
Islands  rising  from  its  shallows,  was  behind  us. 
Our  meager  little  horse  was  climbing  laboriously 

145 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

up  the  road  through  the  Tranche.  Presently  we 
emerged  at  the  crossroads  beside  the  St.  Sym- 
phorien  post-office.  With  my  walking  stick  I 
pointed  out  the  road  we  were  to  take.  I  could  not 
command  my  voice  to  utterance. 

For  perhaps  a  mile  we  drove  on.  Then,  as  we 
reached  the  crest  of  a  little  hill,  I  cried  out  to  the 
driver  to  stop.  With  trembling  fingers  I  thrust  a 
twenty-franc  piece  into  his  hand. 

"  Go  back,"  I  cried;  "  I  am  through  with  you." 

He  stared  at  me  as  though  he  thought  me  mad, 
for  we  were  upon  a  country  road  with  no  building 
whatever  within,  perhaps,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
us;  but  the  gold  piece  in  his  hand  was  a  powerful 
argument  to  do  my  bidding.  The  little  horse 
wheeled  around  and  clattered  away  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  and  I  was  left  alone;  alone,  as  for  a  little 
while,  I  wished  to  be. 

For,  from  the  little  eminence  upon  which  I 
stood,  I  saw  before  my  eyes,  rising  from  the  fer- 
tile little  valley,  like  a  solitary  jewel  in  its  setting, 
the  chateau  of  my  dreams,  the  home  which,  in  any- 
thing but  my  dreams,  I  had  hardly  dared  hope  to 
find. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   SPRING 

IT  was  nearly  an  hour  later  that  I  rang  the  bell 
at  the  great  gate  of  the  main  entrance  to  the 
park  surrounding  the  chateau. 

In  that  interval  of  time,  by  thinking  hard  about 
my  French  doctor,  and  what  his  advice  to  me  on 
such  an  occasion  would  certainly  have  been,  I  had 
calmed  myself  sufficiently  to  appear  before  who- 
ever opened  the  gate  in  the  character  of  a  casual 
sight-seer. 

I  had  a  wild  hope  that  the  assumption  of  this 
character  might  not  prove  necessary ;  that  the  per- 
son who  opened  the  gate  at  my  summons  would 
greet  me  with  a  welcome  home,  would  cry  out,  in 
that  instant  of  recognition,  the  name  I  once  had 
borne.  I  dared  not  entertain  such  a  hope  as  that, 
and  it  proved  well  I  did  not. 

The  figure  I  presently  saw  approaching  to  un- 
lock the  gate  was  a  totally  unfamiliar  one  to  me. 
Furthermore,  it  became  plain  the  next  moment 
that  he  had  never  seen  me  either.  Clearly,  all  he 

147 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

saw  in  me  was  the  omnipresent  touring  sight-seer, 
and  all  that  he  welcomed  about  me  was  the  pros- 
pect of  a  liberal  tip. 

He  was  a  youngish  man,  very  thin,  this  thin- 
ness extending  to  his  dust-colored  hair  and  his 
weak,  patchy  beard.  He  had  a  rather  sinister 
look,  I  thought,  but  attributed  it,  and  perhaps 
rightly,  to  his  misfortune  in  being  extremely  wall- 
eyed. 

I  told  him  that  I  wished,  if  I  could  without  tres- 
passing, to  have  a  look  at  the  place. 

"  But  most  assuredly,  monsieur,"  he  said  with 
enthusiasm. 

"  My  guidebook  appears  not  to  mention  the 
chateau,"  said  I,  as  I  entered  the  gate,  "  or,  if  it 
does,  I  have  overlooked  it.  May  I  ask  the  name 
of  it  and  to  whom  it  belongs?  " 

"  It  is  called  Chateau  la  Mesle,"  said  the  gate 
keeper.  "  It  was  the  property  of  foreigners.  The 
wife  of  an  American  monsieur  and  her  son  lived 
here  for  many  years.  But  she  died  and  he  went 
away.  Since  that  time  the  chateau  has  been 
closed." 

"  Americans,  you  say?  "  I  commented.  His  an- 
swer fitted  so  exactly  into  the  frame  of  my  hopes, 
that  I  craved  additional  assurance  of  hearing  him 
repeat  it. 

"  .Yes,  monsieur,"  he  said. 
148 


THE  SPRING 

"  And  their  name?  "  I  asked. 

My  heart  was  racing  so  fast  it  almost  suffocated 
me,  but  I  dare  say  the  tone  of  my  query  sounded 
casual  enough. 

"  I  was  not  here;  I  did  not  come  here  until  after 
they  had  gone  away,"  said  the  lodge  keeper.  "  It 
was  a  foreign  name  and  difficult  to  remember." 

"  An  American  lady  and  her  son,  you  say.  What 
did  the  name  sound  like,  even  if  you  can't  recall 
it  exactly?  " 

"  As  I  saioV'  he  answered,  "  I  was  not  here,  and 
did  not  come  till  after  they  had  gone " 

It  may  have  been  the  obliquity  of  his  eyes  which 
gave  me  the  impression,  but  I  thought  that  my 
interest  in  the  name  of  these  foreigners  caused 
him  to  glance  at  me  a  little  suspiciously. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  can't  remember,"  he  continued. 
"  Has  monsieur  any  special  interest  in  the  mat- 
ter? " 

If  by  pretending  he  was  about  to  repeat  the 
name,  he  had  deliberately  planned  to  trap  me  into 
an  expression  of  impatience  over  his  failure  to  do 
so,  the  trap  worked.  His  quick  glance  caught,  I 
was  sure,  my  shrug  of  irritation.  There  was  noth- 
ing for  me  now  but  to  assume  the  casual  sight-seer 
again  as  best  I  could. 

"  Not  an  interest  in  the  world,"  said  I.  "  I  was 
merely  curious  as  to  your  reason  for  making  a 

149 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

secret  of  what  I  could  learn  at  any  neighboring 
farmhouse." 

I  set  out  briskly  up  the  driveway  as  I  spoke,  and 
he,  after  what  appeared  to  be  a  moment  of  inde- 
cision, came  hurrying  on  after  me. 

"  One  moment,  monsieur,"  he  called;  "  one  mo- 
ment, and  I  will  be  with  you." 

He  disappeared  with  that  into  the  lodge.  With- 
out waiting  for  him,  I  strolled  slowly  up  the  drive. 
When  I  heard  him  come  out,  I  quickened  my  pace, 
expecting  him  to  hurry  on  at  once  and  over- 
take me. 

He  was  still  two  or  three  yards  behind  me 
when  I  reached  a  point  where  a  comparatively 
obscure  path  left  the  drive  at  a  sharp  angle.  The 
chateau  was  hidden  from  view  at  this  point  by 
trees  and  shrubbery,  but  without  hesitation,  and 
completely  without  thought,  I  turned  up  the  nar- 
row path. 

It  was  a  complete  betrayal  of  my  role  of  casual 
sight-seer,  but  I  did  not  realize  it  at  the  time.  My 
instinctive  self  had  simply  walked  me  up  that  path, 
and  when  the  lodge  keeper  from  the  driveway 
called  me  back,  I  stood  for  a  moment  bewildered 
between  my  two  personalities,  the  old  and  the  new. 
I  even  started  to  ask  the  question,  "  Has  anything 
been  changed?  "  so  certain  was  I  that  my  narrow 
path  would  lead  me  right,  so  clearly  had  I  in  mind 

150 


THE  SPRING 

the  picture  of  the  carved  stone  doorway  at  the  end 
of  it. 

"  This  way,  monsieur,  this  way,"  called  the 
lodge  keeper  insistently. 

What  served  better  than  anything  else  to  rouse 
me  was  my  discovery  of  the  fact  that  he  had  a 
small  hand  camera  with  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  that?"  I  asked 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  I  make  photographs  of  the  grounds  to 
sell  to  tourists,"  said  the  man.  "  I  thought  my 
stroll  about  the  place  with  you  would  afford  a 
good  opportunity." 

Of  course  he  was  lying,  and  I  experienced  for 
a  moment  a  hot-tempered  man's  impulse  to  kick 
his  precious  camera  to  pieces.  I  felt  morally  cer- 
tain that  he  had  seized  the  moment  of  my  hesita- 
tion there  on  the  path  to  take  a  picture  of  me.  The 
sun  had  been  shining  straight  in  my  face  at  the 
time,  I  remembered. 

I  conquered  the  impulse,  however,  and  as  best 
I  could  held  down  my  rising  suspicion  of  the  man. 
It  would  be  rather  absurd  for  me  to  go  through 
life  suspecting  every  person  I  saw  of  being  an 
agent  in  a  dark  conspiracy  against  myself.  If  I 
was  not  mistaken,  that  sort  of  idea  was  character- 
istic of  a  well-known  form  of  insanity. 

The  lodge  keeper  and  I  walked  on  up  the  main 
11  151 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

driveway.  Presently  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
chateau.  There,  off  at  a  corner  to  the  left,  was 
the  doorway  to  which  my  path  had  offered  a  short 
cut.  I  started  toward  it,  but  again  the  lodge 
keeper  stopped  me. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not  per- 
mitted to  show  visitors  the  house." 

I  stared  at  him. 

"  That  was  not  what  you  said  at  the  gate,"  I 
observed. 

"  Monsieur  misunderstood  me,"  said  he.  "  The 
grounds  are  all  I  am  at  liberty  to  show." 

He  was  speaking  in  the  dogged,  defiant  man- 
ner of  one  who  knows  the  weakness  of  his  posi- 
tion. 

'  You  say  the  house  has  been  unoccupied  a  long 
time?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Is  there  a  single  living  person  inside  it 
now?  " 

The  outward  appearance  of  the  place  was 
enough  to  provide  an  answer.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation,  he  decided  to  tell  me  the  truth. 

"  No,"  he  admitted. 

I  plunged  my  hand  in  my  pocket  where  I  had 
some  gold  along  with  my  loose  change.  It  was  no 
time  for  half  measures.  I  drew  out  a  napoleon. 

"  For  all  I  can  see,"  said  I,  "  you  can  still  tell 
152 


THE  SPRING 

your  employer  that  you  have  obeyed  his  rules.  I 
don't  know  who  can  contradict  you." 

As  I  had  withdrawn  my  hand  from  my  pocket, 
a  bit  of  paper  had  fluttered  away  on  the  grass.  It 
blew  in  his  direction,  and  he  picked  it  up,  stealing 
a  good  look  at  it  before  he  returned  it  to  me.  It 
proved  to  be  nothing  but  the  check  for  my  bag 
in  the  consigne  at  the  station,  so  I  thought  the 
insolence  of  his  action  hardly  worth  resenting. 

"  Come,"  said  I,  "  am  I  to  see  the  interior?  " 

Cupidity  was  urging  him  strongly  in  one  direc- 
tion, but  it  was  evident  that  fear  was  operating 
even  more  strongly  in  another.  He  made  a  ges- 
ture of  resignation  and  finality. 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  impossible,"  he  said.  "  But," 
he  continued,  as  I  was  about  to  put  my  napoleon 
back  into  my  pocket,  "  but  there  is  a  summer- 
house  here  on  the  lawn  that  is  occasionally  shown 
to  visitors.  If  monsieur  cares  to  see  that,  I  will 
take  the  risk  of  disobeying  my  instructions." 

I  looked  up  once  more  at  the  chateau.  Every 
carving  in  the  broad  arch  which  formed  the  door- 
way was  as  familiar  to  me  as  if  I  had  seen  it  but 
yesterday.  This  old  chateau  could  represent  no 
mere  incident  in  my  past  life.  It  must  have  been 
the  scene  of  the  greater  part  of  it.  When  I  re- 
flected that  the  only  thing  which  lay  between  me 
and  the  complete  establishment  of  my  identity  was 

153 


THE   MAN  WITHOUT  A'  SHADOW 

this  lodge  keeper's  stubborn  refusal  to  admit  me  to 
this  house  and  to  tell  me  the  name  of  its  owner, 
which  I  was  sure  must  both  have  been  mine,  I  was 
very  near  taking  him  by  the  throat  and  squeezing 
the  words  out  of  him.  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  re- 
sisted that  impulse  had  I  not  felt  sure  that  a  very 
few  minutes  or  hours,  at  the  most,  of  patient  in- 
quiry after  I  had  left  the  place  would  tell  me  all 
that  I  wanted  to  know. 

"  Well,"  I  assented  grudgingly,  "  show  me  the 
summerhouse,  then,"  and  I  handed  him  the  napo- 
leon. 

The  building  in  question  was  of  no  great  archi- 
tectural pretensions;  built  all  in  one  story,  and 
comprising  but  a  single  room.  It  was  a  charming 
room,  however,  blazing  with  sunshine,  and  nearly 
surrounded  by  windows.  It  was  entirely  disfurn- 
ished  and  bare,  but  even  at  that,  in  the  very  way 
the  shadows  from  the  leaded  windowpanes  flung 
themselves  across  the  stone-flagged  floor,  I  seemed 
to  read  a  sort  of  welcome  home. 

On  the  floor  toward  one  end  of  the  room  was  a 
tattered  square  of  matting.  I  walked  away  from 
my  guide,  who  had  lingered  near  the  door,  and, 
hardly  conscious  of  what  I  was  doing,  slipped  the 
matting  away  with  my  foot  from  the  spot  of  the 
floor  which  it  covered.  The  action  revealed  the 
fact  that  one  of  the  flagstones  had  been  replaced 

154 


THE  SPRING 

by  an  accurately  fitting  wooden  cover  with  a  ring 
in  it. 

I  stooped  down  and  tugged  at  this  ring.  The 
cover  came  up  easily,  and  beneath  it  I  saw  what 
appeared  to  be  a  mirror.  I  knew  what  it  was, 
though,  without  dipping  my  finger  into  it — a  tiny 
spring  at  the  bottom  of  a  cup-shaped  cavity  in  a 
rock.  It  was  not  much  below  the  surface  of  the 
floor,  and  within  quite  easy  reach  if  one  knelt 
down  upon  the  flagging. 

I  also  saw,  just  where  I  had  expected  to  see  it, 
a  battered  pewter  mug,  dangling  from  a  chain. 

The  whole  of  my  action  had  been  mechanical 
and  wholly  unconscious.  The  only  thing  about  it 
that  afforded  me  any  surprise  was  the  look  of  my 
own  face,  which  I  saw  mirrored  there.  That 
looked  a  little  strange  to  me. 

I  was  brought  sharply  back  to  the  present,  how- 
ever, by  an  exclamation  of  surprise  on  the  part  of 
my  guide.  Apparently  he  had  not  known  that  the 
spring  was  there.  He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment 
in  utter  amazement.  Then,  without  saying  a 
word,  he  whirled  about,  ran  out  of  the  house, 
slammed  the  door  after  him  and  locked  it.  For 
a  moment  the  thought  that  he  meant  to  keep  me 
a  prisoner  here  alarmed  me  somewhat,  but  that 
feeling  passed  away  presently.  It  is  easy  to  lock 
a  man  out  of  a  house,  but  hard  to  lock  him  into  it, 

155 


THE    MAN    WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

unless  it  has  been  especially  prepared  for  such  a 
purpose. 

I  walked  over  to  a  window  from  which  I  could 
command  a  considerable  portion  of  the  driveway. 
The  lodge  keeper  was  still  running  when  I 
got  my  first  view  of  him.  Then  his  pace  slack- 
ened, and  presently  he  stopped.  He  seemed 
to  be  trying  to  decide  between  two  courses  of  ac- 
tion. It  took  him  only  a  moment  to  make  up  his 
mind,  however,  and  the  next  I  saw  of  him  he  was 
walking  briskly  away  down  the  drive  like  a  man 
who  knows  exactly  what  he  is  going  to  do  and  has 
no  reason  to  exhaust  himself  with  excessive  haste. 

I  was  strongly  tempted  to  remain  there  in  the 
summerhouse  a  while  longer.  Possibly  some- 
where, even  within  those  four  narrow  walls,  I 
could  find  the  answer  to  my  secret ;  but  my  prom- 
ise to  the  doctor  occurred  to  me.  I  had  told  him 
I  would  not  permit  myself  to  be  caught  in  a  trap ; 
that  I  would  not  underestimate  either  the  audac- 
ity or  the  cleverness  of  my  enemies.  Really,  my 
secret  was  solved  already.  I  knew — I  was  ready 
to  take  my  oath — that  I  was  the  American  young 
gentleman  who  had  lived  in  this  chateau.  His 
identity  I  could  learn  anywhere,  and  quite  without 
risk.  So,  rather  regretfully,  I  let  myself  out  of 
one  of  the  windows  and  made  my  way  down  the 
drive. 

156 


THE  SPRING 

I  had  nearly  reached  the  gate,  though  I  was 
quite  hidden  from  the  view  of  it  by  a  turn  in  the 
driveway  and  a  heavy  growth  of  shrubbery  and 
timber,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  The 
first  was  old,  cracked,  and  obsequious,  and  I  haz- 
ard a  guess  that  it  belonged  to  the  mother  of  my 
friend,  the  lodge  keeper.  She  seemed  to  be  tugging 
at  the  gate  and  apologizing  for  her  slowness  in 
getting  it  open.  Apparently  I  was  not  to  be  the 
only  visitor  at  the  chateau  to-day. 

"  It  is  not  permitted  for  the  carriage  to  enter," 
she  was  saying,  "  but  monsieur  and  mademoiselle 
are  most  welcome.  My  son  has  gone  away,  but 
myself — I  can  show  you  everything  as  well  as  he, 
though  I  am  old." 

And  then  came  a  voice  that  startled  me.  I  had 
been  on  the  point  of  walking  out  into  view  around 
the  curve,  but  at  the  sound  of  it  I  stopped  short 
where  I  was.  It  was  a  man's  voice — an  old  voice, 
too,  I  thought,  and  though  I  did  not  immediately 
place  it,  there  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  familiar. 
He  was  speaking  laboriously  in  very  broken 
French. 

"  We  are  not  sight-seers,  madam,"  he  said. 
"  We  have  come  to  see  Mr.  Christopher  Morton. 
Will  you  take  him  my  card?  This  is  his  house, 
is  it  not?" 


CHAPTER    XV 

WHAT   THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT   ME 

HRISTOPHER  MORTON !  At  the  sound 
of  the  words  my  mind  began  racing  madly 
like  the  propeller  of  a  steamship  when  some  great 
wave  lifts  it  out  of  the  water. 

"  Morton,  Morton,"  I  whispered  to  myself. 
What  was  my  association  with  that  name?  The 
next  moment  I  had  it. 

Morton-Duggleby !  Christopher  Morton,  the 
great  shipbuilder! 

The  next  moment  my  mind  added  something  to 
the  phrase;  I  was  saying  to  myself:  "The  late 
Christopher  Morton!  " 

He  had  been  my  father  and  he  was  dead,  and  I 
must  be  the  son  who  had  lived  with  his  mother  in 
France. 

As  I  recall  that  incident  now,  I  am  aware  that 
it  was  my  new  self,  not  my  old,  who  was  fitting 
together  the  pieces  of  this  puzzle  for  me,  fitting  it 
together  out  of  that  magazine  article  which  my 
French  doctor  had  been  so  annoyed  to  learn  that  I 

153 


WHAT   THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT 

had  read.  In  other  words,  I  was  deliberately 
thinking  who  I  must  be,  instead  of  listening  for  the 
chime  of  unconscious  recognition  from  my  inner 
self. 

That  may  seem  a  rather  fine-spun  distinction,  but 
it  was  an  important  one  to  me.  Then  came  a  time 
during  the  next  few  hours  when  I  lamented  the 
fact  that  my  mind  had  offered  me  no  fresh  white 
page  for  the  recording  of  the  impressions  of  that 
moment,  but  one  instead  that  was  written  all  over 
with  a  strong  prejudice. 

At  the  moment  when  I  walked  out  around  the 
curve  of  the  drive  and  into  view  of  the  persons 
standing  at  the  gate,  at  that  moment  I  believed  my 
mystery  to  be  fully  solved. 

The  next  moment  my  ingeniously  constructed 
edifice  of  inference  and  deduction  came  tumbling 
about  my  ears.  The  two  new  visitors  to  the  cha- 
teau, who  had  come,  not  to  see  it  but  to  interview 
its  owner,  Christopher  Morton,  these  two  visitors 
were  Virginia  Heatherfield  and  her  father. 

At  first  they  did  not  see  me.  They  were  listen- 
ing, evidently  with  the  keenest  disappointment,  to 
the  old  woman's  voluble  denials  that  Christopher 
Morton  lived  here.  He  had  not  been  here  since 
his  mother's  death,  a  year — two  years  ago;  the 
chateau  was  closed — vacant.  If  they  did  not  be- 
lieve her,  they  could  go  and  see  for  themselves. 

159 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

I  doubt  if  they  understood  her  words,  but  the 
purport  of  her  speech  was  plain  enough.  As  they 
listened  to  it,  the  look  of  disappointment  in  their 
faces  was  plain  to  see.  Presently,  perceiving  this 
look  in  her  father's  face,  seeing  how  pale  he  was 
and  how  his  hands  were  trembling,  Virginia  forced 
a  smile  to  her  lips. 

"  It  is  only  what  we  might  have  expected,  fa- 
ther," she  said,  "  and  it  is  really  our  first  attempt. 
We  shall  find  him  yet." 

Then,  with  faltering,  stammering  words,  she 
tried  to  ask  the  old  woman  if  she  could  not  afford 
them  some  sort  of  clew,  however  indirect,  to  Mr. 
Morton's  whereabouts. 

Meanwhile,  there  stood  I,  not  a  dozen  paces 
away,  I  who  had  felt  absolutely  certain  a  moment 
before  that  I  was  Christopher  Morton  himself ! 

At  the  sight  of  them,  of  course,  my  confidence 
that  I  had  solved  the  secret  of  my  identity  received 
a  staggering  blow.  They  had  seen  me  on  ship- 
board and  had  identified  me,  either  rightly  or 
wrongly,  with  a  man  who  must  have  played  an  im- 
portant part  In  their  lives,  a  man  they  must  have 
known  well.  Whether  they  were  right  or  wrong, 
their  presence  here  at  the  chateau,  their  errand, 
and  their  obvious  disappointment  in  its  failure 
made  it  pretty  clear  that  the  man  they  had 
identified  me  with  was  not  Christopher  Morton. 

1 60 


WHAT    THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT 

Whoever  I  might  be,  it  was  evident  that  I  was 
not  the  very  man  they  had  come  across  the  sea  to 
find. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  in  the  moment  while  I 
stood  there,  unremarked  either  by  the  old  French 
woman  or  by  the  Heatherfields,  I  was  capable  of 
any  such  close  reasoning  as  that.  All  I  was  con- 
scious of  was  a  vague  disquiet  in  place  of  the  elated 
certainty  of  the  moment  before. 

The  next  moment  the  sound  of  my  approaching 
steps  caught  the  girl's  ear.  She  turned  and  looked 
at  me.  Astonishment  at  first  was  all  there  was  in, 
her  face,  almost  the  look  of  one  who  sees  a  ghost, 
but  that  expression  was  quickly  succeeded  by  one 
of  incredulous  dread,  dread  mingled  with  hot, 
scornful  anger.  Her  eyes  blazed  as  she  looked  at 
me. 

"You!"  she  said. 

The  word  was  hardly  voiced  at  all ;  hardly  more 
than  a  whisper,  but  its  thrilling  intensity  made  it 
cut  like  a  whiplash. 

"You!"  she  repeated,  "here!" 

Before  I  could  have  said  a  word,  even  if  I  had 
had  a  word  to  say,  her  attention  was  sharply  di- 
verted from  me  back  to  her  father.  He,  I  am  sure, 
had  not  seen  me  at  all,  but  the  heat  of  the  day, 
combined  with  his  disappointment  over  the  utter 
fruitlessness  of  his  visit  to  the  chateau,  was  too 

161 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

much  for  him.  He  had  been  reeling  when  she 
spoke  to  me,  and  now,  in  spite  of  the  clasp  of  the 
strong  arms  which  she  flung  about  him,  he  sank 
down  to  the  ground,  in  the  roadway  at  her  feet, 
in  a  dead  faint. 

She  was  down  beside  him  in  an  instant,  pillow- 
ing his  head  on  her  arm,  while  with  her  free  hand 
she  tried  to  loosen  the  knot  of  his  cravat  and  unbut- 
ton his  collar. 

"  Bring  some  water  quickly,"  she  commanded 
the  old  woman. 

Her  manner  was  calm,  collected  enough,  but 
what  few  words  of  French  she  may  have  possessed 
failed  her  in  the  emergency,  and  she  spoke  in  Eng- 
lish. 

The  old  woman  was  quite  beside  herself  with 
excitement. 

"  Fetch  some  cold  water  quickly,"  I  commanded 
in  a  language  she  understood;  and  I  called  after 
her  as  she  disappeared  into  the  house,  "  and  bring 
some  cognac,  too." 

Then  I  stripped  off  my  coat.  "  Lay  his  head 
back  on  this,"  I  told  Virginia  as  I  placed  it  beside 
her.  "  He  should  lie  flat." 

She  obeyed  me  mechanically,  but  when  a  mo- 
ment later  I  offered  to  help  her  with  the  stiff  but- 
tonholes of  the  old  gentleman's  collar,  she  spoke 
so  fiercely  that  I  started  back. 

.162 


WHAT   THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT 

"  Don't  touch  him,"  she  said.  "  Not  with  those 
hands  of  yours !  " 

I  turned  away  rather  giddily,  reeling  a  little  as 
one  might  who  had  received  a  knife  thrust.  What- 
ever there  had  been  in  her  eyes  when  I  had  last 
confronted  her  on  shipboard,  of  doubt,  of  wonder, 
of  a  half-dared  hope,  that  was  all  gone  now.  My 
presence  here  in  the  grounds  of  Christopher  Mor- 
ton's chateau  seemed  to  settle  in  her  mind  all  doubt 
as  to  my  identity  and  all  question  as  to  my  guilt. 

I  turned  away,  as  I  say,  and  in  spite  of  my  effort 
to  steady  myself,  to  check  the  whirl  of  my  thoughts, 
they  propounded  a  question  to  me  which  shook  me 
to  the  very  bottom  of  my  soul.  "  What  if  the  girl 
is  right;  what  if  this  lost  man  for  whom  you  are 
seeking  is,  indeed,  the  knave,  the  coward,  the 
traitor  that  her  father  declared  him?" — "Not 
with  those  hands  of  yours !  " 

For  the  sake  of  doing  something  I  went  to  the 
lodge  door  to  urge  additional  haste  from  the  old 
woman.  She  came  almost  at  once,  and  within  a 
minute  or  two  the  restoratives  she  brought  proved 
efficacious.  The  old  gentleman  opened  his  eyes, 
and  the  next  moment,  with  his  daughter's  assist- 
ance, rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  With  dignified  cour- 
tesy, though  his  expression  of  it  was  somewhat 
stammering,  he  declined  the  old  woman's  invita- 
tion to  go  into  the  house  and  rest. 

163 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

**  It  was  a  mere  momentary  weakness,"  he 
said.  "  I  should  not  have  remained  standing  so 
long  in  the  sun.  The  little  drive,  such  as  I 
have  before  me,  will  restore  me  completely.  I 
thank  you,"  he  concluded,  with  a  stately  bow, 
"  both  for  your  assistance  and  for  your  hospi- 
tality." 

Then,  as  he  turned  away  from  her,  his  eyes 
rested  upon  me  where  I  stood,  coatless  and  high- 
ly uncomfortable  in  the  background.  I  fully 
expected,  and  dreaded  equally,  to  see  the  same 
amazed  expression  in  his  face  which  had  appeared 
in  Virginia's,  but  to  my  great  surprise  and  relief 
he  appeared  not  to  recognize  me. 

He  noted  that  I  was  without  my  coat,  however, 
and  a  glance  at  it  lying  in  the  driveway  showed  him 
the  use  to  which  it  had  been  put. 

"  And  I  thank  you,  sir,  also,"  he  continued. 

Relying  on  his  failure  to  recognize  me,  I  stepped 
forward  and  offered  him  my  assistance  into  his  car- 
riage. It  was  the  only  decent  thing  I  could  have 
done,  though  I  rather  dreaded  its  possible  effect  on 
Virginia.  But  when  I  had  got  him  safely  seated 
and  had  turned  away,  with  a  bow  which  matched 
his  own,  it  was  only  to  find  her  confronting  me, 
my  dusty  coat  in  her  hands. 

The  look  in  her  eyes,  the  look  of  tragic  despair 
which  underlay  her  anxiety  over  this  most  recent 

164 


WHAT    THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT 

episode,  went  straight  to  my  heart.  I  felt  I  could 
not  let  her  go  like  that. 

"  Miss  Heatherfield,"  said  I,  "  may  I  have  just 
a  word,  just  a  moment?  It  is  for  your  sake  and 
for  his  that  I  ask  it.  I  would  not  thrust  my  own 
needs  upon  you  at  a  moment  like  this." 

The  mere  sound  of  my  voice  seemed  to  agitate 
her  almost  uncontrollably,  but  mastering  herself 
with  obvious  effort,  she  nodded  assent,  and  drew  a 
pace  or  two  away  from  the  carriage.  Making  a 
pretense  at  brushing  some  of  the  dust  from  my 
coat,  before  she  handed  it  back  to  me,  served  as 
the  opportunity  for  what  I  wanted  to  say. 

"  For  some  reason,"  said  I —  "  and  I  give  you 
my  word  I  can  form  no  guess  what  it  is — for  some 
reason  my  presence  here  convinces  you  that  I  am  in- 
deed the  man  your  father  thought  I  was  on  ship- 
board. Who  that  man  can  be  I  do  not  know, 
and  I  have  no  dearer  wish  than  to  find  out." 

Her  eyes  widened  with  clear  astonishment. 

"  If  you  do  not  know,  then  you  are  not  the  man, 
monsieur.  But  if  you  are  not  the  man,  then — then 
why  did  you  come  here  ?  How  did  you  know  that 
we  were  coming  here?  " 

"  That  I  did  not  know.  I  am  still  only  halfway 
out  of  the  daze  of  astonishment  which  the  sight 
of  you  and  your  father  here  in  the  driveway  caused 
me."  I  paused  there  a  moment,  then  went  on: 

165 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"As  to  the  reason  why  I  came,  that  is  a  part  of  a 
story  which  I  want  to  tell  you  some  day.  I  have  a 
belief  that  you,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  may  be 
able  to  help  me." 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  face  with  a  gesture 
of  agonized  bewilderment.  "  I  can't  understand. 
My  whole  world  seems — seems  to  be  whirling 
around." 

"  I  know,"  I  answered.  "  I  understand  your 
sensation,  perhaps,  as  well  at  this  moment  as  any- 
one who  ever  lived.  For  these  many  weeks  I  have 
been  trying  to  hold  fast  to  courage  and  keep  going 
forward  in  the  dark.  I  have  seen  many  a  false 
dawn,  and  I  am  still  waiting  for  the  day  to  break. 
Yet  I  believe  that  it  will  break  at  last — my  day 
and — and  yours,  too." 

My  words,  and  I  think  still  more  the  mere  sound 
of  my  voice,  kindled  in  her  eyes  that  same  wild, 
incredible  surmise  which  I  had  seen  there  once  be- 
fore. She  was  looking  at  me  with  an  intensity 
which  threatened  to  annihilate  the  iron  control  I 
had  put  upon  myself.  I  could  not  tell  my  story 
now,  as  we  stood  here  in  the  road,  with  an  impa- 
tient horse  and  a  still  more  impatient  cabman  wait- 
ing to  take  her  and  her  father  away  from  me.  No, 
my  story  must  wait.  But  her  eyes  were  still  on 
mine,  and  their  gaze  seemed  to  search  the  very 
bottom  of  my  soul. 

166 


WHAT   THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT 

"  Who  are  you?'"  she  asked,  her  voice  trembling 
with  uncontrollable  excitement.  "  You  must  tell 
me  who  you  are  I  " 

"  Oh — "  I  answered,  with  what  was  almost  a 
sob,  "  that  I  do  not  know !  "  Then,  with  a  deep- 
drawn  breath  I  mastered  myself  again. 

"  Whoever  I  may  be,"  said  I,  "  as  I  stand  here 
before  you,  I  have  no  thought  but  to  be  of  service 
to  you.  My  needs  and  my  questions  can  wait. 
But  your  father  is  weak,  and  I  fear  he  is  ill.  He 
needs,  for  the  next  few  hours  at  least,  a  better  pro- 
tection than  you  alone  can  afford  him.  I  want  you 
to  take  me  into  your  service.  Are  you  planning  to 
go  back  to  Paris  to-night?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  that  is  all  we  can 
do  now." 

"  Then  let  me  go  with  you,"  I  pleaded.  "  I 
may  be  of  more  service  than  you  think.  Can't  you 
simply  trust  me,"  I  continued,  "  and  let  the  ex- 
planation wait?  Heart  and  soul  I  offer  you  my 
service.  Can't  you  accept  it?  " 

There  came  a  rush  of  tears  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Whoever  you  may  be,"  she  said,  "  yes,  I  ac- 
cept it."  Then,  "  Will  it  be  safe  for  us  to  try 
it?  "  she  questioned.  And  the  linking  of  our  two 
identities  in  one  pronoun  brought  my  heart  into 
my  throat.  "  Won't  my  father  recognize  you?  " 
12  167 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  He  has  not  so  far,"  said  I.  "  I  don't  think  he 
will.  At  any  rate,  I  can't  let  you  go  off  alone." 

"  Come  then,"  she  said,  and  took  her  seat  in  the 
carriage  beside  him. 

I  climbed  on  the  box  with  the  driver.  Her 
father  manifested  no  alarm  whatever  over  this 
proceeding.  He  seemed  to  take  the  fact  of  my 
having  joined  the  party  as  a  matter  of  course. 

As  for  me,  I  was  glad  that  my  isolated  seat 
gave  me  the  opportunity  for  a  little  calm  reflec- 
tion, or  as  good  an  imitation  of  it  as  the  excitement 
and  suspense  of  my  situation  would  permit. 

I  stole  an  inquiring  glance  now  and  then  at  Vir- 
ginia to  learn  how  the  ride  was  affecting  her 
father.  Three  or  four  times  I  did  this  and  re- 
ceived from  her  each  time  a  reassuring  signal  that 
all  was  well  with  him. 

I  had  begun  to  doubt  a  little  the  real  necessity 
of  my  presence  in  the  party,  when  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  spoke  so  low  that  the  sound  barely 
reached  my  ear. 

I  motioned  to  the  cabman  to  stop  his  horse,  dis- 
mounted, and  came  around  beside  her.  We  were 
then  within  only  a  short  distance  of  the  post  and 
telegraph  office  at  St.  Symphorien.  Her  father 
seemed  to  have  fallen  into  a  sort  of  a  doze,  from 
which  the  stopping  of  the  vehicle  did  not  rouse 
him. 

168 


WHAT   THE    BREEZE    BROUGHT 

"  It  is  not  the  least  like  him  to  fall  asleep  like 
that  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,"  she  said. 
"  Do  you  think  he  is  seriously  ill  or  going  to  be?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  physician,"  said  I,  "  and  I  don't 
know.  It  may  be  just  the  natural  reaction  from 
the  stimulants  we  gave  him  to  revive  him  after  his 
faint." 

She  seemed  only  half  reassured,  and  I  myself 
was  in  some  perplexity  as  to  what  we  ought  to  do. 
The  sight  of  the  telegraph  office  suggested  some- 
thing to  me. 

"  As  I  said,  I  am  not  a  physician,"  I  continued, 
when  this  thought  struck  me,  "  but  one  of  the 
greatest  physicians  in  France  is  my  friend  and 
benefactor.  If  I  telegraph  to  him  he  will  come 
at  once.  There  must  be  a  hotel  in  Tours  where 
we  can  stay  comfortably  until  he  arrives.  Of 
course,  if  your  father  should  need  medical  assist- 
ance in  the  mean  time  we  can  get  it,  but  I  should 
prefer  losing  no  time  dispatching  that  telegram. 
The  office  is  right  here,"  I  continued,  nodding  to- 
ward the  little  building;  "  if  you  will  excuse  me  a 
moment,  I  will  go  in  there  and  send  off  the  wire." 

She  nodded  assent. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come  with  us,"  she 
said. 

The  entrance  to  the  post-office  was  around  at 
the  other  side  of  the  building.  Taking  the  short- 

169 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

cst  line  to  it,  I  skirted  the  side  wall  closely.  As  I 
passed  under  the  open  window,  I  heard  an  excla- 
mation from  within  that  made  me  shrink  up  close 
to  the  wall  and  stand  dead  still.  The  voice  that 
uttered  that  exclamation  was  the  voice  of  the 
lodge  keeper.  Evidently  he  had  run  away  and 
left  me  for  the  purpose  of  sending  a  telegram  and, 
having  had  to  go  afoot,  had  reached  his  destina- 
tion only  a  few  minutes  ahead  of  us. 

The  cause  of  his  exclamation  was  revealed  al- 
most simultaneously  with  the  sound  of  it.  A  piece 
of  white  paper,  propelled  by  the  lusty  summer 
breeze,  came  blowing  out  of  the  window.  In  a 
flash  I  recovered  it  and  shrank  back  close  against 
the  wall.  I  heard  footsteps  approaching  the  win- 
dow, and  imagined  that  he  was  looking  out  to  see 
where  his  telegram  had  gone.  Finding  no  trace 
of  it,  he  returned  to  the  writing  desk,  presumably 
to  compose  another. 

Meanwhile,  I,  my  nerves  tingling  with  excite- 
ment, was  reading  the  message  he  was  about  to 
send. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   PARIS    HERALD 

II  est  venu  aujourd'hui.  C'est  lui,  j'en  suis  sur.  J'en 
ai  fait  un  cliche  sans  sa  connaissance.  Sa  valise  est 
au  consigne  a  Tours.  Je  vais  le  suivre.  Aussi  j'ai  ren- 
contre en  chemin  une  Americaine  avec  un  vieillard,  son 
pere.  Ces  sont,  peut-etre,  les  autres. 

PIERRE  BOTTIN. 

THIS  is  what  I  read  after  I  had  shrunk  back 
against  the  wall  and  smoothed  out  the 
crumpled  paper  which  the  breeze  and  a  stroke  of 
good  fortune  had  brought  me. 

For  just  a  moment  after  I  had  finished,  I  stood 
where  I  was,  thinking  as  fast  as  I  have  ever 
thought  in  my  life.  The  message  was  badly  writ- 
ten, with  many  blots  and  erasures,  and  it  would 
evidently  take  the  author  of  it  some  little  time  to 
compose  another. 

I  slipped  around  the  corner  of  the  building,  and 
assured  myself  that  neither  the  carriage  nor  my 
path  to  it  was  commanded  by  any  window. 

At  the  sight  of  me,  Virginia's  eyes  widened,  and 
171 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT    A    SHADOW 

I  knew  that  some  hint  of  the  strange  tale  I  had  to 
tell  must  be  written  in  my  face. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked,  a  little 
breathlessly,  as  I  came  up  beside  her. 

"  Let  me  ask  you  three  questions  first,"  said  I, 
"  and  then  I  will  tell  you.  On  your  way  out  to 
the  chateau,  to  Mr.  Morton's  chateau,  did  you 
meet  a  man  in  the  road  walking  as  if  he  were  in  a 
hurry?  " 

"A  rather  evil-looking  young  man?  A  man 
with  queer  eyes?  "  she  asked,  and  I  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  he  stared  hard  at  us. 
He  turned  around  to  look  after  we  had  passed 
him." 

"  Another  question.  Did  you  come  from  Paris 
this  morning,  and  if  you  did,  where  did  you  leave 
your  luggage?  " 

"  At  the  railway  station,"  she  said. 

"  Now  my  last  question,"  said  I,  "  and  that's 
the  important  one.  Unless  you  trust  me  fully  you 
must  not  answer  it." 

"  I  trust  you,"  she  said  quickly.  "  I  told  you 
that." 

"  Well,  then,'1  said  I,  speaking  as  fast  as  I 
could,  "have  you  any  enemies?  Is  there  anyone 
who  might  anticipate  this  attempt  of  yours  to  see 
Christopher  Morton;  who  might,  perhaps,  wish 
to  prevent  your  meeting  him?  " 

172 


THE    PARIS   HERALD 

She  did  not  pale  at  my  question,  as  I  half  ex- 
pected she  would.  Instead,  the  color  ran  high  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  there  is." 

Without  another  word,  I  held  my  telegram  be- 
fore her  eyes,  and,  at  the  risk  of  doing  something 
superfluous,  translated : 

He  came  to-day.  It  is  he,  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  made  a 
photograph  of  him  without  his  knowing  it.  His  valise  is 
in  the  cloakroom  at  Tours.  I  am  going  to  follow  him. 
Also  I  met  on  the  road  an  American  girl  with  an  old  man, 
her  father.  Perhaps  they  are  the  others. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  I  am  the  person  to  whom  the 
first  part  of  the  message  refers.  The  man  who 
wrote  it  is  in  that  building  there  composing  an- 
other to  take  its  place.  This  blew  out  of  the  win- 
dow and  I  caught  it.  He  will  go  to  the  Tours 
station  and  wait  for  me  there.  He  means  to  fol- 
low me,  but  if  he  sees  you,  he  will  undoubtedly 
have  you  followed  also." 

She  frowned  in  some  perplexity,  and  glanced 
from  me  to  her  father. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  are  going  to  do,  mon- 
sieur," she  said.  "  Do  you?  " 

"  You  leave  it  in  my  hands?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

For  an  instant  a  troubled  look  of  doubt  clouded 
her  eyes,  but  if  the  doubt  were  there,  she  con- 

173 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

quered  it  resolutely.  She  indicated  her  father  with 
a  grave  inclination  of  the  head. 

"  I  put  him  in  your  hands,  monsieur,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  do  whatever  you  say." 

I  turned  to  the  driver. 

"  Wheel  around,"  I  commanded,  "  and  drive  us 
to  Mettray." 

He  growled  a  little  at  that — a  city  cabman 
never  relishes  excursions  into  the  country — and 
said  something  about  the  color  of  my  money. 

"  You  shall  be  paid,"  said  I,  "  paid  so  well  that 
you  will  forget  you  have  ever  been  to  Mettray." 

That  little  hint  of  mystery  went  straight  to  his 
heart.  He  grinned  in  perfect  comprehension. 

"  Allans,  monsieur,"  said  he. 

I  was  no  longer  seated  on  the  box,  but  on  the 
cramped  little  extra  seat,  facing  the  one  occupied 
by  Virginia  and  her  father.  His  condition  did 
not  seem  to  be  growing  any  more  serious,  and,  in- 
deed, several  times  during  the  course  of  our  drive 
he  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  take  part  in  our 
conversation;  but  even  during  those  moments  of 
comparative  brightness  he  did  not  seem  disturbed 
or  even  puzzled  by  my  presence  in  the  carriage. 

As  Virginia's  alarm  about  his  condition  less- 
ened, I  noticed  her  casting  an  occasional  anxious 
glance  down  the  road  behind  us. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  apprehended  from  that 
174 


THE    PARIS   HERALD 

quarter,"  said  I.  "  We  were  safe  from  our  wall- 
eyed friend,  the  lodge  keeper,  the  moment  we  got 
around  the  first  bend  of  the  road.  He  has  reflected 
that  I  would  certainly  go  to  the  Tours  station  to 
recover  my  hand  bag,  and  has  hurried  down  there 
as  fast  as  his  legs  will  carry  him,  to  wait  for  me. 
It  will  be  hours  before  he  even  suspects  that  he 
has  gone  off  on  a  false  scent,  and  when  he  does, 
he  will  never  think  of  Mettray.  There  is  proba- 
bly a  very  decent  little  inn  there  where  we  can 
make  your  father  quite  comfortable,  and  as  soon 
as  that  is  attended  to,  I  will  telegraph  my  doctor 
to  come  down  from  Paris  in  his  automobile." 

She  glanced  at  her  father,  who  was  dozing  be- 
side her. 

"Do  you  think  that  will  be  necessary?"  she 
asked  anxiously. 

"  For  his  medical  services,  very  likely  not," 
said  I,  "  but  if  you  are  really  the  '  others '  of 
whom  Monsieur  Pierre  Bottin  speaks  in  his  tele- 
gram, why,  that  same  doctor  is  likely  to  prove  of 
more  service  to  you  than  any  other  man  in  the 
world." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  relish  having  so  heavy 
a  demand  made  upon  him?  " 

"  He  will  be  coming  for  me  quite  as  much  as 
for  you,"  said  I,  "  for  I  feel  the  need  of  his  wis- 
dom and  his  intelligence  as  much  as  I  ever  felt  it 

175 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

before,  which  is  saying  more  than  you  can  possibly 
realize." 

Her  father  roused  from  his  doze  just  then,  and 
put  an  end  to  our  conversation,  and  from  that  mo- 
ment until  we  got  into  Mettray  we  talked  about 
the  gold-green  valleys,  the  lines  of  slender  poplars, 
their  tops,  golden  in  the  light  of  the  declining  sun, 
the  streams  and  pools  and  the  great  black-belted 
cattle,  the  lovely  landscape  of  the  Touraine  that 
passed  before  our  eyes  as  we  drove  on. 

Before  I  dismissed  our  driver  at  the  door  of  the 
little  inn,  I  paid  him  with  a  liberality  which  I 
thought  would  insure  his  silence  regarding  us,  in 
the  unlikely  case  that  he  was  questioned,  and  which 
also  wakened  the  warm  interest  of  the  concierge 
who  had  come  out  from  his  cubby-hole  to  assist 
us  to  alight.  It  counteracted  fully,  in  his  mind, 
the  drawback  of  our  having  arrived  without 
luggage. 

I  promptly  called  for  the  proprietor  of  the  es- 
tablishment, and  when  he  appeared,  demanded  the 
best  rooms  he  had,  explaining  that  the  elderly 
monsieur  was  too  weak  and  ill  to  be  taken  back  to 
Tours  to-night. 

Whatever  discrepancies  the  story  may  have  pre- 
sented in  his  mind,  the  authority  of  my  manner 
and  the  twenty-franc  piece  I  gave  him  were  suffi- 
cient to  blind  him  to  them. 

176 


THE   PARIS   HERALD 

He  set  about  getting  things  ready  with  tremen- 
dous good  will,  shouting  directions  to  servants  all 
over  the  inn,  and  presently  he  assured  us  that  our 
rooms  were  ready  for  us. 

As  for  dinner,  we  could  either  partake  of  the 
excellent  repast  which  was  already  in  preparation 
for  the  other  guests  at  the  inn,  or,  if  we  desired, 
he  would  prepare  us,  with  his  own  hands,  a  quite 
particular  meal  which  should  be  served  to  us  pri- 
vately. All  that  he  needed  was  a  little  time  for 
preparation.  I  clinched  my  position  in  his  good 
graces  by  electing  the  latter  alternative. 

It  required  the  combined  efforts  of  the  landlord 
and  myself  to  get  Mr.  Heatherfield  up  the  steep 
stairs  to  his  chamber,  for  he  was  almost  a  dead 
weight,  and  no  inconsiderable  one  at  that.  Once 
there,  however,  and  fortified  by  a  little  cognac 
and  milk,  he  rallied  somewhat,  and  we  were  able 
to  leave  him  to  Virginia's  ministrations. 

The  moment  I  was  relieved  I  went  to  the  tele- 
graph office  and  sent  off  my  message  to  the  doctor. 
I  asked  him  to  come  at  once  and  suggested  that 
he  travel  in  his  automobile. 

"  They  have  left  you  and  come  to  me,"  I  said, 
feeling  sure  he  would  understand  this  as  a  refer- 
ence to  Virginia  and  her  father,  "  and  all  three  of 
us  have  been  obliged  to  come  here  to  escape  the 
delegated  attentions  of  the  young  man  whom  we 

177 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

last  saw  on  the  White  Star  Pier.  So  the  sooner 
the  better,  if  you  don't  mind  taking  to  the  road 
to-night." 

That  done,  I  visited  two  or  three  shops  and  pur- 
chased such  toilet  articles  as  would  enable  us  all 
to  pass  the  night  in  comparative  comfort  without 
our  luggage.  Then,  followed  by  a  small  boy  with 
his  arms  full  of  my  purchases,  I  returned  to  the 
hotel. 

The  landlord  met  me  with  the  intelligence  that 
the  young  American  lady  wished  me  to  come  up 
to  her  father's  room  as  soon  as  I  had  returned. 

I  hurried  thither  in  some  alarm,  but  Virginia's 
face  reassured  me. 

"  He  is  asleep,"  she  said  quickly,  "  and  he  seems 
to  be  perfectly  comfortable.  When  he  wakens,  I 
shall  have  some  good  news  for  him." 

"  Good  news?  "  I  repeated  somewhat  surprised. 
"What  news  can  have  reached  you  here?" 

"  It  was  by  a  strange  chance,"  she  said.  "  That 
newspaper  was  lying  on  the  center  table.  The 
maid  who  had  cleared  up  the  room  was  starting 
to  carry  it  away  with  her,  when  I  noticed  that  it 
was  printed  in  English,  and  told  her  to  leave  it. 
I  thought  it  would  keep  me  company  while  I  was 
waiting  for  you  to  come  back." 

I  took  it  up  and  examined  it.  It  was  the  Paris 
New  York  Herald,  with  yesterday's  date  line. 

178 


"I  read  it.    ...    My  house  of  cards  was  demolished  indeed." 


THE   PARIS  ^HERALD 

She  pointed  out  a  single  paragraph  in  one  of  its 
interminable  chronicles  of  the  movements  of  so- 
ciety. 

"You  may  read  it,"  she  said;  "but,  oh,  you 
cannot  imagine  what  it  will  mean  to  us  if  it  is 
true!" 

I  read  it,  and  then  for  a  moment  I  turned  my 
face  away  from  her.  My  house  of  cards  was  de- 
molished, indeed.  It  read: 

Mr.  Christopher  Morton,  who  has  been  living  in  re- 
tirement since  the  death  of  his  mother,  nearly  three  years 
ago,  has  revisited  Paris,  and  is  stopping  at  the  Ritz  Ho- 
tel. Mr.  Morton  inherits,  under  the  terms  of  his  father's 
will,  the  immense  estate  of  the  late  Christopher  Morton 
of  New  York. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE    SPY 

OF  course  the  words  that  paragraph  contained 
completed  the  wreck  of  the  theory  which 
I  had  held  so  strongly  for  just  one  moment  this 
afternoon — that  I  was  Christopher  Morton.  But 
the  presence,  here  alone  with  me,  standing  close 
beside  me,  of  the  woman  of  my  dreams,  her  readi- 
ness to  help  me  and  to  accept  my  help  was  too 
poignant  to  allow  me  to  waste  any  regret  over  the 
mere  theory. 

I  found  her  looking  at  me  when  I  laid  down  the 
paper.  Her  eyes  followed  the  hand  that  held  it 
as  it  moved  toward  the  table,  and  then,  returning, 
clasped  the  other  hand. 

She  caught  her  breath  then,  as  if  even  in  that 
trivial  gesture  she  had  read  a  significance.  "  The 
same  hands,"  I  heard  her  whisper.  "The  same — " 
and  then  she  checked  herself. 

"  You  said  back  there  at  La  Mesle,"  she  went 
on,  "  when  we  were  standing  by  the  roadside,  that 
you  wanted  me  to  hear  your  story;  that  you 

1 80 


THE    SPY 

thought  I  could  help  you — I,  of  all  people  in  the 
world.  And  now — now  we're  alone,  and  I'm 
waiting  to  hear  it.  You  said  you  did  not  know 
who  you  were." 

I  shook  my* head;  my  throat  was  dry  and  my 
lips  were  trembling. 

V  You  mean,"  she  asked  unsteadily,  "  that  the 
memory  is  gone — the  memory  of  all  the  past?  " 

I  made  a  sign  of  assent.  I  was  capable  of  no 
other  answer. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  "  you  told  me  that  I — I, 
of  all  people  in  the  world,  might  help  you. 
And  that  day  on  shipboard  you  spoke,  to  my 
father,  you  told  him  that  you  had  a  most  earnest 
wish —  How  could  you  have  that  wish  if  you 
had  forgotten  ?  " 

I  think  I  might  have  made  a  beginning  at  an 
answer  but  for  that  last  reference  of  hers,  for  un- 
derlying the  doubt  and  fear  which  spoke  in  her 
unsteady  voice  and  cried  out  from  her  eyes,  there 
was  hope,  and,  though  I  dared  not  call  it  that, 
a  great  love.  But  her  reference  to  her  father  and 
to  my  short  and  altogether  disastrous  interview 
with  him  that  day  on  deck,  recalled  the  paralyzing 
dread  which  had  first  assailed  me  on  that  occasion, 
and  which  I  had  struggled  with  only  this  after- 
noon; the  dread  lest  the  lost  man  I  sought  might 
prove  to  be,  in  truth,  the  knave  and  the  traitor  her 

181 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT    A    SHADOW 

father  believed  him  to  be.  It  was  not  plain  cow- 
ardice, no  fear  of  present  consequences  to  myself, 
but  a  fear  that  shook  the  very  foundations  of  my 
being,  that  threatened  my  actual  possession  of 
an  identity  and  hinted  a  denial  of  my  right  to  the 
use  of  a  first-person  pronoun.  There  was  nothing 
but  stark  madness  at  the  end  of  that  train  of 
thought. 

"  I  thought  I  could  tell  you  my  story,"  said 
I  at  the  end  of  a  little  silence,  "  but  I  find  I 
can't.  It  must  be  told  to  you  in  a  more  detached 
way  than  I  could  possibly  tell  it.  It  must  be 
told  you  by  some  one  whose  disinterestedness, 
yes,  and  whose  perfect  sanity  you  cannot  possibly 
doubt." 

Her  eyes  widened  at  that,  and  I  saw  the  look 
come  into  them  that  I  dreaded  to  see. 

"  I'm  not  mad,"  I  went  on;  "  at  least  the  great 
doctor  who  is  helping  me  through  this  tangle  of 
mysteries  says  that  I  am  not.  He  is  on  the  way 
here  now.  When  he  comes,  he  can  tell  you  my 
story." 

"  I  wish  he  were  here,"  she  said. 

"  He'll  not  be  long,"  I  assured  her.  "  He's 
coming  now  as  fast  as  an  automobile  can  travel. 
And,  in  the  mean  time,  can't  we  shut  out  the  past 
altogether?  Can't  we  pretend,  for  this  hour  or 
two,  that  the  man  you  knew  is  dead  and  that  I  am 

182 


THE    SPY 

some  other  man  ?  Even  at  that,  our  present  fates 
are  woven  together.  We  have  the  same  enemies 
and  we  have  the  same  friends.  Whatever  I  may 
have  been,  the  man  I  am  now  has  only  lived  a 
month.  I  know  him  and  I  can  vouch  for  him. 
Pie  wants  to  serve  you.  He  wants  your — friend- 
ship. And  that,  he  understands  quite  well,  is  all 
he  has  the  right  to  ask.  You  can  trust  him." 

"  I  have  already  trusted  him,"  she  answered, 
"  and  given  him  my — friendship.  And  I  accept 
his  terms." 

I  ordered  our  dinner  served  in  the  room  adjoin- 
ing the  one  where  her  father  lay  asleep.  The 
door  was  left  open  so  that  we  could  hear  if  he  so 
much  as  stirred,  and,  to  avoid  disturbing  him,  we 
talked  almost  in  whispers  and  took  elaborate  pre- 
cautions against  making  any  noise. 

The  circumstances  made  it  curiously  easy  to 
carry  out  our  compact.  Sitting  down  thus  with 
her  at  dinner,  we  two  alone,  made  natural  and 
accountable  the  haunting,  poignant  feeling  of  in- 
timate familiarity  I  had,  a  feeling  which  without 
such  excuse  would  have  been  acutely  distressing. 
As  it  was,  the  homelike  coziness  relaxed  the  ten- 
sion on  nerves  and  emotions.  We  chatted  together 
like  children. 

The  meal  itself,  a  work  of  art  quite  peculiar  to 
the  Touraine,  was  all  that  the  landlord  had  prom- 
13  183 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

ised  it  would  be,  and  it  provided  her  with  a  fresh 
surprise  for  every  course. 

"  I  am  not  always  such  a  child  as  this  over  the 
things  that  are  given  me  to  eat,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  I  suppose  it  is  the  whispering  that  makes  me  feel 
like  a  little  girl  in  school  again." 

"  Be  glad  of  the  chance,"  said  I.  "  Both  of  us, 
I  imagine,  have  earned  a  good  many  compensa- 
tions along  this  line.  So  far  as  I  can  remember,  I 
have  never  been  so  happy  before,  so  thoroughly, 
boyishly  happy." 

"  *  Never  '  is  a  pretty  big  word,"  she  objected. 

I  did  not  remind  her  that  "  never  "  in  my  case 
covered  a  period  of  a  little  less  than  a  month,  but 
the  look  I  caught  in  her  eyes  told  me  that  she  had 
thought  of  it. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  a  little  of  your 
own  story,"  I  asked,  "  while  we're  waiting  for  the 
French  doctor  to  come?  Tell  me  why  you  may 
be  '  the  others '  in  that  message  I  intercepted,  and 
in  which  I  am  the  one.  I  don't  mean  to  ask  for 
more  than  you  want  to  tell  me,  for  more  than  you 
feel  like  telling  a  man  whom  you  know  so  little." 

She  colored.  "  I  don't  think  I  deserve  that  im- 
plication," she  said.  "  I  showed  this  afternoon 
how  completely  I  trusted  you.  I  put  myself  and, 
what  means  a  good  deal  more  to  me,  my  father, 
entirely  into  your  hands  without  waiting  for  any 

184 


explanation  at  all.  I  knew  you  were  telling  me 
the  truth  when  you  said  you  wished  to  be  of  serv- 
ice to  us,  and  I  don't  question  that  knowledge  now. 
As  for  my  story,  or,  rather,  my  father's,  for  it  is 
not  mine,  if  you  wish,  you  may  hear  the  whole 
of  it." 

"  Tell  it,  please,"  said  I. 

"  Father — "  she  began.  She  had  not  been  look- 
ing at  me  for  the  past  moment  or  two.  Now  as 
she  spoke,  she  glanced  up  into  my  eyes  and  her 
sentence  broke  off  short.  "  It — it  seems  so  strange 
to  begin  telling  this  to — you,"  she  said.  "  You 
don't  know — none  of  the  story  at  all?  " 

"  Not  one  word.  I  got  your  father's  name  out 
of  the  passenger  list.  I  knew  yours.  I  dreamed 
it." 

She  looked  away  with  an  effort,  drew  a  long 
breath  to  steady  herself,  then  began  again: 

"  Father  is  an  inventor;  not  the  sort  of  an  in- 
ventor who  lives  in  a  garret  and  thinks  that  he 
is  about  to  discover  perpetual  motion.  He  is  a 
real  inventor,  a  man  who  discovers  things.  The 
things  he  discovers  are  really  valuable,  and  men 
pay  a  lot  of  money  for  the  right  to  use  them.  Ten 
years  ago  we  were  what  anyone  but  a  millionaire 
would  call  rich. 

"  It  was  about  that  time  that  he  found  himself 
on  the  track  of  the  greatest  discovery  of  all,  some- 

185 


THE    iMAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

thing  about  the  chemistry  of  steel.  He  had  found 
a  way  to  make  it  a  good  deal  stronger,  a  great 
deal  tougher.  Of  course  that  meant  that  you 
would  not  have  to  use  near  so  much  of  it  to  get 
the  same  results.  You  could  make  armor  for 
battleships  out  of  quite  thin  plates  of  it." 

I  am  afraid  I  must  confess  that  only  about  half 
my  mind  was  on  her  words.  Not  because  I  was 
not  interested;  there  was  no  estimating  what  the 
story  she  had  begun  to  tell  might  mean  to  me.  But 
the  mere  presence  of  her  there,  the  wonder  of  her, 
the  magic  of  the  mere  sound  of  the  words  she  used 
cast  a  sort  of  spell  over  me. 

She  was  leaning  forward,  her  elbows  on  the 
table,  her  clasped  hands  lying  upon  it,  within 
reach,  such  tantalizingly  easy  reach,  of  my  own. 
I  thrust  back  my  chair  and,  walking  over  to  the 
window,  stood  staring  at  my  own  reflection  in  the 
black  pane.  For  the  feeling  had  suddenly  swept 
over  me  that  those  hands  of  hers  were  groping, 
unconsciously,  for  mine. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  he  could  tell  it  to  you,"  she  said, 
with  a  little  gesture  of  impatience.  "  I  can't  make 
it  sound  interesting.  I  am  too  ignorant  to  talk 
about  it." 

"  That  was  not  why  I  walked  away,"  said  I. 
"  Go  on.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  am  listening." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  he  found  the  thing  he  was 
186 


THE   SPY 

looking  for,  found  that  it  would  do  all  he  had 
hoped  from  it,  and  even  more.  It  would  revolu- 
tionize, he  used  to  say,  the  whole  science  of  engi- 
neering. But  it  applied  most  particularly,  he 
thought,  and  other  people  agreed  with  him,  to 
the  building  of  ships.  Of  course  a  revolutionary 
discovery  like  that  wants  a  lot  of  proving  out,  so 
he  went  to  Cleveport,  where  the  great  shipyards 
are,  and  built  a  special  laboratory.  He  had  known 
Mr.  Morton — the  old  Mr.  Morton,  that  is — for 
a  great  many  years,  so  it  was  to  the  Morton-Dug- 
gleby  Company  he  went  with  the  news  of  his  dis- 
covery. But  Mr.  Morton  had  retired  from  his 
active  connection  with  the  business  then,  and  the 
men  father  talked  to  about  it  were  Mr.  Duggleby 
and  his  son.  They  were  greatly  interested,  of 
course,  for  father's  word  in  a  matter  of  that  sort 
carried  a  great  deal  of  weight.  Still,  they  pro- 
fessed themselves  to  be  very  cautious,  wanting  new 
tests,  and  tests  on  a  larger  scale  all  the  time.  And 
at  last  father  got  to  thinking  they  were  not  acting 
in  perfectly  good  faith." 

I  laughed  shortly,  and  Virginia  cast  a  quick, 
puzzled  glance  at  me. 

"  You  do  know  them?  " 

"  To  my  cost,"  said  I,  "  but  my  acquaintance  is 
confined  to  the  past  month.  Go  on;  I  don't  mean 
to  interrupt  you." 

187 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT,   A   SHADOW 

"  I  suppose  it  is  partly  my  fault,"  said  she, 
"  that  father  didn't  come  to  that  conclusion  sooner. 
He  is  a  very  unsuspicious  man,  almost  childlike 
in  such  ways,  and  it  is  always  hard  for  him  to 
believe  that  other  people  are  not  as  candid  as  he. 
That  is  where  I  failed  him.  I  knew  very  little 
about  what  he  was  doing.  He  seemed  such  a  great 
man,  and  such  a  successful  one,  that  it  never  oc- 
curred to  me  that  he  could  need  me.  And  then — 
well,  I  was  pretty  well  taken  up  with  other  things. 
I  thought  I  was  being  very  philanthropic  and 
charitable,  and  all  that,  working  among  the  poor 
people  at  Cleveport,  teaching  in  night  schools,  and 
so  on " 

I  did  not  hear  how  she  finished  the  sentence. 
The  words  "  night  schools  "  had  fascinated  me. 
It  brought  a  picture  flashing  into  my  mind  of  a 
shabby  room — a  disused  store  it  must  have  been, 
judging  by  the  show  window  which  I  remembered 
at  the  front  of  it.  I  felt  pretty  sure,  somehow, 
that  I  had  taught  there,  too.  I  resolutely  banished 
the  picture  from  my  mind,  however,  and  concen- 
trated on  what  she  was  saying. 

"  So,  though  I  had  met  both  the  Dugglebys 
and  distrusted  them  exceedingly,  yet  I  never 
warned  my  father  to  be  on  his  guard.  They  al- 
ready knew  all  the  preliminary  processes  of  his  dis- 
covery, and  all  that  he  had  held  back  from  them 

188 


THE    SPY 

was  the  one  substance — a  reagent  I  think  is  the 
word  for  it — that  was  essential  to  make  it  com- 
plete. It  was  not  until  he  had  gone  so  far  that 
he  became  convinced  that  they  did  not  mean  to 
pay  him  for  his  discovery  if  they  could  help  it. 
They  meant  to  steal  his  secret  if  they  could. 

"  By  that  time,  though  I  didn't  know  it  until 
the  crash  came,  we  were  almost  as  poor  as  the 
kind  of  inventor  I  told  you  my  father  was  not. 
The  tests  on  which  the  Dugglebys  had  insisted 
had  been  immensely  expensive,  and  father  had  put 
about  everything  he  had  into  them.  Of  course  he 
could  have  turned  to  something  else,  but  the  end 
always  seemed  so  near  and  the  whole  matter  was 
so  immensely  important  that  he  never  thought  of 
anything  else." 

"  You  say  they  tried  to  steal  his  secret,"  said  I, 
and  now  my  own  voice  was  trembling  with  excite- 
ment. "  I  should  think  that  would  have  been  a 
pretty  difficult  thing  to  do.  How  did  they  set 
about  it?  " 

At  my  question,  she  turned  in  her  chair  and  sat 
looking  at  me  wirfi  a  strange  intensity. 

"  There  was  a  man,"  she  said,  "  a  young  man 
who  had  been  working  with  me  among  the  poor 
people  in  Cleveport — a  young  man  whom  my 
father  trusted  implicitly  and  admired  very  highly. 
He  did  not  tell  him  his  secret,  merely  because  he 

189 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

told  it  to  no  one,  not  even  to  me.  But  if  he  had 
told  it  at  all,  he  would  have  confided  it  to  that  man 
with  as  little  hesitation  as  he  would  have  felt  in 
confiding  it  to  me. 

"  One  night  my  father's  laboratory  was  looted. 
His  safe  was  broken  and  everything  in  the  place 
systematically  searched.  An  attempt  was  made  to 
give  the  work  the  appearance  of  an  ordinary  bur- 
glary, but  it  was  such  an  attempt  as  could  not  de- 
ceive a  child,  could  not  even  deceive  as  unsuspi- 
cious a  man  as  my  father;  and  the  very  next  day, 
the  man  I  told  you  about,  the  man  who  had  been 
almost  like  a — like  a — a  son  to  him,  disappeared. 

'  We  have  never  heard  from  him  since.  My 
father  believed,  and  still  believes,  that  that  man 
was  the  hired  spy  of  the  Dugglebys;  that  he  came 
to  our  home  with  no  other  purpose  than  to  steal 
his  secret  from  him." 

I  knew  what  the  answer  must  be  to  the  question 
that  was  on  my  lips,  but  I  could  not  hold  back 
from  asking  it. 

"  Is  that  the  man,"  I  asked,  "  the  man  your 
'father  called  a  coward  and  a  knave,  the  man  whom 
you  thought  dead,  is — that  the  man  of  whom  my 
voice  and  face  remind  you?  If  I  have  lived  in 
your  life  at  all,  is  that  the  place  I  have  in  it?  " 

It  was  only  with  a  painful  effort  that  she  an- 
swered me. 

190 


THE    SPY 

"  Yes." 

I  did  not  speak.  There  was  nothing  I  could  trust 
myself  to  say.  But  I  looked  up  and  I  saw  in  her 
face  a  look  of  pain,  yes,  and  of  terror,  the  pain 
and  terror  that  were  in  my  own  soul. 

"  Can't  you  tell  me?  "  she  asked  a  little  wildly. 
'  You  know  something  about  yourself.  It's  too 
unbearable  to  try  to  wait." 

The  sight  of  her  suffering  brought  back  my  own 
self-command. 

"  No,"  I  said  quietly,  "  my  story  is  too  incredi- 
ble. I  have  moments — I  have  been  going  through 
one  now — of  doubting  myself.  But  the  man  who 
is  on  his  way  to  us,  and  he  will  soon  be  here,  will 
have  no  doubts.  He  will  tell  the  truth,  and  he  will 
tell  everything  I  know." 

She  drew  a  long,  tremulous  breath  in  mute  ac- 
quiescence. 

"Come,"  said  I,  "your  father  is  asleep;  the 
square  out  yonder  is  deserted.  Let  us  go  out  and 
walk  a  little  and  have  a  pair  of  quiet  minds  ready 
for  the  doctor  when  he  comes.  Our  situation  de- 
mands all  our  wits,  and  he  will  demand  them, 
too." 

She  hesitated  only  a  minute,  and  then  assented. 

It  was  a  wonderful  moonlit  night  of  early  sum- 
mer, and  under  the  charitable  mantle  which  the 
luminous  darkness  had  thrown  over  it,  the  little 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

town  was  a  thing  of  entrancing  beauty.  It  would 
look  shabby  and  ordinary  enough  to-morrow 
morning,  perhaps,  but  for  the  hour  it  was  trans- 
figured. 

The  moonlight  laid  a  spell  upon  us,  too,  I  think. 
After  the  stress  of  that  long  day  there  was  a  quiet- 
ing virtue  in  its  still,  silver-like  serenity.  Just 
now,  at  least,  it  offered  a  respite  from  doubt  and 
questioning  and  mysteries. 

For  a  while,  half  an  hour,  perhaps,  we  walked 
slowly  back  and  forth  along  the  stretch  of  broad 
flagstones  which  lay  before  the  inn,  and  in  all  that 
time  we  did  not  speak,  together,  a  dozen  words. 
But  at  last  she  slipped  her  hand  through  my  arm. 

4  You  are  being  very  good  to  me,  my  friend," 
she  said. 

My  slow  step  faltered  and  I  caught  my  breath. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  girl  of  my  dreams  did  that  once." 

"  The  girl  of  your  dreams !  "  she  repeated  in  a 
whisper.  And  then  we  walked  on  again  together, 
and  again  in  silence.  But  her  arm  stayed  in  mine. 

Presently  we  heard  through  the  sleepy,  sound- 
less air  the  purring  throb  of  a  motor.  A  pair  of 
white  headlights  soon  were  flashing  among  the 
shadows  of  the  crooked  little  street. 

"  We  can  complete  our  story  now,"  said  I. 
"  My  doctor  has  arrived  from  Paris." 

192 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE   MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

WE  were  standing  at  the  curb  as  the  doctor's 
automobile  drew  up.  I  presented  him  to 
Virginia,  and  then  started  to  lead  the  way  up  the 
stairs  to  our  apartments,  but  the  doctor  stopped 
me. 

"  I  am  an  old  man  and  I  don't  like  to  wait," 
he  said.  "  Tell  me  how  you  have  fared  to-day. 
If  there  were  light  enough  to  see  your  face,  I 
should  not  have  had  to  ask." 

"  You  would  see  nothing  in  my  face  but  per- 
plexity, tenfold  deeper  than  ever,"  said  I.  "  And 
to  make  it  worse,  there  was  a  moment  this  after- 
noon when  I  really  thought  I  knew  who  I  was." 

He  made  no  reply  whatever,  except  with  a  ges- 
ture that  told  me  to  lead  the  way  to  our  apart- 
ments. But  every  line  of  his  body  showed  me 
how  profound  his  disappointment  was.  On  the 
way  upstairs  we  mentioned  Mr.  Heatherfield's 
illness,  and  the  first  thing  the  doctor  did  was  to 
go  alone  to  the  invalid's  bedside.  He  was  not 

193 


THE    MAN    WITHOUT    A    SHADOW 

gone  a  moment.  On  his  return  he  spoke  first  to 
Virginia. 

"  You  need  feel  no  alarm  on  your  father's  ac- 
count," he  said  to  her.  "  He  is  at  this  moment 
taking  the  only  medicine  he  needs,  which  is  quiet 
sleep.  And  that  is  well,"  he  went  on,  including 
both  of  us  in  his  glance,  "  because,  unless  I  am 
mistaken,  we  others,  for  the  next  few  hours,  shall 
find  plenty  to  occupy  our  minds,  and  possibly  our 
hands,  too." 

He  stood  silent  for  a  moment  and  directed  a 
long  look  into  each  of  our  faces.  Virginia's  was 
rather  pale  and  her  eyes  burned  unnaturally  bright. 
A  keen  observer  like  the  doctor  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  note  that  she  was  laboring  under  a  stress 
of  anxiety  and  doubt  as  great  as  my  own. 

The  first  thing  he  did  after  slipping  off  the  light 
dust  coat  which  he  had  worn  in  the  motor  was  to 
go  to  the  table  and  pour  out  three  glasses  of  wine. 
He  nodded  to  me  to  help  myself,  offered  the  sec- 
ond glass  to  Virginia,  which,  after  a  moment  of 
hesitation,  she  accepted,  and  carried  the  third  with 
him  to  a  chair  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  let  us  all  sit  down  and  be  as 
comfortable  as  we  can.  Each  of  you  has  encoun- 
tered disappointments  and  perplexities  to-day,  and 
I  myself  have  found  a  puzzle,  the  correctness  of 
whose  solution  I  begin  to  doubt.  But  with  a  lit- 

194 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

tie  patience,  a  part  of  our  mystery  may  be  cleared 
away  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

It  was  not  an  easy  thing  that  he  asked  of  us, 
but  the  calm  confidence  of  his  manner  won  the  day. 
When  we  were  all  seated,  the  doctor  took  a  sip  of 
his  wine,  and  asked  me  for  the  story  of  my  day's 
adventures. 

"  Before  I  do  that,"  said  I,  "  I  want  you  to  tell 
Miss  Heatherfield  what  you  and  I  know  about 
myself  up  to  this  point.  I  have  told  her  nothing, 
except  the  obvious  fact  that  I  do  not  know  who 
I  am.  I  preferred  she  should  hear  the  story,  in 
detail,  from  your  lips,  rather  than  from  mine." 

"  The  story,  in  detail,  will  have  to  wait,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  The  events  which  seem  to  be  sched- 
uled for  the  next  few  hours  will  hardly  leave  us 
leisure  for  unnecessary  reminiscences;  but  enough 
of  the  broad  outline  of  it  to  make  your  to-day's 
adventures  and  hopes  and  disappointments  intel- 
ligible can  be  told  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

The  doctor  emptied  his  glass  and  set  it  down  on 
the  table.  "  A  month  ago,"  said  he,  "  this  young 
man  found  himself,  after  a  period  of  total  uncon- 
sciousness, in  possession  of  a  perfectly  normal 
mind,  if  I  may  term  it  so,  and  a  totally  obliterated 
memory.  He  knew  neither  who  he  was  nor  where 
he  was.  He  discovered,  by  extraordinary  shrewd- 
ness of  deduction,  that  he  was  in  an  asylum,  and 

195 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

that  his  enemies  meant  to  keep  him  there.  With 
extraordinary  shrewdness,  and  almost  incredible 
courage,  he  escaped  from  the  asylum  and,  for  the 
moment,  from  the  clutches  of  his  enemies.  With 
sanity  and  fortitude  he  took  up  the  task  of  piecing 
together,  from  such  fragmentary  memories  as 
came  to  him,  the  identity  of  his  lost  self. 

"  That  problem  is  still  almost  as  complete  a 
mystery  to  him  as  it  was  a  month  ago.  He  knows 
the  name  of  two  of  his  enemies;  that  name  is 
Duggleby.  He  recognized  your  face  and  that 
of  your  father,  and  placed  them  among  the  num- 
ber of  his  friends.  He  knows  himself  to  have 
been  a  man  of  education  and  breeding  and  wide 
experience  with  the  world.  Beyond  that,  except 
for  what  he  may  have  learned  to-day,  he  knows 
nothing. 

"He  set  out  this  morning  from  Paris  in  search  of 
the  chateau  that  has  been  in  his  dreams  ever  since 
he  can  remember.  When  I  got  his  telegram  this 
afternoon  saying  that  he  had  found  you  and  had 
learned  that  his  enemies  were  your  enemies  also, 
I  entertained  a  high  hope  that  he  had  solved  his 
problem.  And  I  still  feel  that  when  we  have 
pieced  together  all  the  data  we  possess — we  three 
here  in  this  room — we  shall  find  ourselves  out  of 
the  labyrinth  and  in  the  straight  road  at  least, 
though  perhaps  not  at  the  end  of  our  journey.  I 

196 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

do  not  ask  if  you  are  willing  to  help.  I  can  see 
by  your  face  that  you  are." 

It  was  with  a  little  difficulty  that  she  answered 
with  the  single  word  "  Yes." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  questioned  the  doctor,  "  is 
it  an  impertinence  to  ask  what  was  the  nature  of 
your  errand  here  in  the  Touraine  that  brought  you 
under  the  displeasure  of  young  Duggleby?  " 

"  My  father  had  had  some  business  dealings 
with  the  Dugglebys,"  she  said,  "  and  had  suffered 
as  a  result  of  their  bad  faith.  We  came  here  to 
make  an  appeal  to  the  only  man  who  could  effect 
anything  in  our  behalf — young  Mr.  Christopher 
Morton." 

The  doctor  started  a  little  and  his  eyes  caught 
mine.  There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  You  did  not  find  him?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  but  I  know  now  where  he  is, 
or  think  I  do.  According  to  the  Paris  Herald,  he 
is  in  that  city." 

The  doctor  rose  from  his  chair,  frowning  in 
deep  perplexity,  and  began  pacing  the  floor.  Fi- 
nally he  stopped  before  her.  "  Are  you  quite  sure, 
Miss  Heatherfield,"  he  asked  very  slowly — "  quite 
sure  that  Mr.  Christopher  Morton  is  not,  at  this 
moment,  in  this  very  room?  " 

She  started  and  cast  a  half-frightened  glance 
into  the  shadows  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room, 

197 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

as  if  half  expecting  to  see  some  lurking  presence 
there.  Then  her  gaze  traveled  to  the  doctor,  on 
to  me  and  back  to  the  doctor  again. 

"  No,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "  he  is  not 
here." 

The  doctor  began  his  slow  patrol  of  the  room 
again.  Virginia  turned  to  me :  "  Was  that  what 
you  thought?  "  she  asked.  "  Did  you  believe  that 
Christopher  Morton  was  the  man  you  had  lost?  " 

The  doctor  answered  for  me.  "  I  was  satisfied 
of  it,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  so  from  the  first. 
When  he  bought  his  ticket  for  Tours  this  morning, 
I  thought  that  settled  it,  for  I  knew  that  Morton 
had  a  chateau  in  that  vicinity." 

"  It  went  even  nearer  than  that,"  said  I.  "  I 
drove  out  of  the  city,  guided  by  an  unmistakable 
instinct;  I  saw  my  chateau,  the  home  of  my 
dreams,  perfect  in  every  little  detail." 

In  his  excitement  the  doctor  addressed  Virginia 
in  French. 

"  You  are  quite  sure,"  I  asked,  translating  for 
him,  "  quite  sure  that  I  am  not  Christopher  Mor- 
ton? Have  you  ever  seen  him?  " 

"No,"  she  said,  "  I  have  never  seen  him;  but 
if  you  are  the  man  I  remember — "  she  paused  and 
choked  a  little  over  the  words — "  that  man  could 
not  have  been  Christopher  Morton,  monsieur," 
she  said. 

198 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  running  his  hands 
through  his  hair,  "  I  suppose  we  must  give  it  up. 
Our  theory  has  endured  two  blows  to-day.  One 
from  you,  mademoiselle,  who  believe  him  to  be 
another  man,  and  the  other  from  a  man  who  ap- 
parently believes  himself  to  be  Christopher  Mor- 
ton. In  my  blind  prejudice  in  favor  of  my  theory, 
I  set  that  gentleman  down  for  an  impostor,  and 
the  coincidence  of  his  coming  to  see  me  at  that 
time  strengthened  my  confidence  rather  than  weak- 
ened it.  He  was  in  my  office  when  your  telegram 
came. 

'*  That,  however,  is  the  beginning  of  a  longer 
story  than  I  propose  to  elaborate  on  now.  I  have 
been  spending  what,  for  a  quiet,  elderly  persoa 
like  myself,  will  pass  for  an  adventuresome  day. 
But  time  presses  a  little,  and  I  have  an  idea  that 
your  experiences  will  be  more  to  the  point  than 


mine." 


As  briefly  as  I  could  frame  the  words  I  told  him, 
then,  of  my  visit  to  the  chateau  grounds,  my  en- 
counter with  the  wall-eyed  lodge  keeper,  and  the 
meeting  with  Virginia  and  her  father  at  the 
gate;  and  gave  him,  in  bald  outline,  Virginia's 
story  of  the  events  which  led  up  to  their  coming 
to  Europe  to  seek  an  interview  with  young  Mr. 
Morton.  Then,  in  conclusion,  I  spread  before 
him  the  intercepted  telegram  which  had  diverted 
14  199 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

us  to  Mettray.  The  doctor's  eyes  sparkled  as 
he  read  it,  with  the  same  look  which  I  had  seen 
in  them  when  we  had  walked  together  out  of 
Mike  Lynch's  saloon,  a  look  which  portended  any- 
thing but  a  quiet,  uneventful  life  for  the  next  ten 
hours. 

"  Your  lodge  keeper,"  said  he,  "  undoubtedly 
went  back  and  wrote  a  similar  message  after  you 
had  captured  this." 

Then,  curiously  enough,  he  turned  and  shot  at 
Virginia  one  of  the  same  questions  I  had  asked 
immediately  after  I  had  read  it  : 

"  Your  luggage — yours  and  your  father's — is 
that  in  the  cloakroom  at  the  Tours  station?  " 

He  barely  waited  for  her  affirmative  nod  before 
he  asked  another  question : 

"  And  the  chemical  formula  for  your  father's 
secret,  is  that,  by  any  unlucky  chance,  contained 
in  those  hand  bags?  " 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  that  has  never  left  my; 
father's  person." 

"  That's  well  for  the  present,"  said  he.  "  We 
shall  have  a  few  hours  of  leisure.  Because,  unless 
I  am  greatly  mistaken,  that  cloakroom  will  be 
looted  to-night.  We  can  count  on  the  preoccupa- 
tion of  our  friend,  the  enemy,  until  to-morrow 
morning.  But  after  to-night — "  he  broke  off 
abruptly — "  well,"  he  concluded,  with  a  return  to 

200 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

his  quiet,  half-amused  manner,  "  to-morrow  we 
will  discuss  what  we  shall  do  to-morrow." 

He  paused  there  a  moment  and  looked  at  me 
with  a  smile.  Then,  as  if  it  were  the  simplest 
thing  in  the  world,  he  said : 

"  Young  Mr.  Duggleby  arrived  this  morning 
in  Paris.  He  took  the  road  to  Tours  this  after- 
noon, and  he  is  now,  in  all  probability,  not  a  dozen 
miles  away." 

"What!"  I  gasped. 

"  Did  you  not  expect  it,"  he  asked,  still  smiling, 
"  when  I  ventured  the  prediction  that  the  cloak- 
room in  the  Tours  station  would  be  looted  to- 
night? Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  a  man  I  employed  to 
provide  me  with  an  extra  pair  of  eyes  informed 
me  of  his  arrival  this  morning.  And  this  after- 
noon, just  beyond  Orleans,  I  passed  a  car  en  panne 
at  the  roadside.  I  was  keeping  a  sharp  lookout, 
and  though  I  flashed  by  rather  quickly,  I  was  sure 
of  what  I  saw.  There  were  three  men  in  the  car, 
and  one  of  them  was  swearing  in  English,  and  in 
a  most  terrifying  manner,  at  the  chauffeur,  who 
was  at  work  on  the  tire.  Mr.  Duggleby  is  a  very 
remarkable  young  man,  and  I  think  I  should  know 
him  anywhere.  At  any  rate,  I  knew  him  to-night." 

'  You  didn't  recognize  any  of  the  other  men  in 
the  car,  did  you?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  At  the  time,  I 
201 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

thought  I  did,  but  I  would  not  give  five  sous  for 
that  opinion  now." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Virginia  asked. 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  failed  most 
lamentably  in  practicing  the  very  thing  that  I  have 
been  preaching  to  my  young  friend  here  for  the 
past  month.  I  have  permitted  my  prejudices  to 
render  me  absolutely  incompetent  to  observe  ac- 
curately." 

"  Go  on,"  said  I;  "  tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  my  whole  story  from  the  be- 
ginning. A  patient  called  upon  me  this  afternoon. 
He  did  not  send  in  his  card  by  my  valet,  but  re- 
mained, anonymously,  in  my  reception  room  until 
I  came  out  to  see  him.  Then  he  handed  me  his 
card.  Upon  it  was  engraved  the  name  of  Mr. 
Christopher  Morton. 

"  The  instant  I  read  the  name  it  flashed  into 
rny  mind  that  this  unusual  procedure  of  handing 
me  his  card  in  person  was  a  deliberately  laid 
trap  to  betray  me  into  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 
I  doubt  now  that  it  was  a  trap  at  all.  If  it  was, 
I  did  not  fall  into  it.  I  quietly  asked  my  visitor 
what  he  wanted  of  me.  He  told  me  that  his 
nerves  were  troubling  him;  that  he  had  come  to 
me  on  the  recommendation  of  his  family  physician, 
a  man  I  knew.  He  was  a  model  patient,  if  he  was 
a  patient  at  all,  for  he  gave  me  an  exhaustive  list 

202 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

of  symptoms,  without  adding  any  that  were  irrele- 
vant and  without  repeating  any  of  those  that  he 
had  enumerated.  The  symptoms  made  an  almost 
perfectly  typical  case  of  neurasthenia. 

"  Now,  as  I  tell  you,  I  was  convinced  from  the 
beginning  that  the  man  was  an  impostor.  I  should 
have  believed  anyone  to  be  an  impostor  who 
handed  me  a  card  with  that  name  engraved  on  it, 
for  since  you  had  bought  that  ticket  for  Tours  this 
morning  I  had  not  entertained  the  slightest  doubt 
that  you  were  Christopher  Morton  himself.  I  sus- 
pected his  list  of  symptoms  because  they  were  all 
so  perfectly  typical.  I  believed  he  had  committed 
them  to  memory  out  of  a  text-book  of  my  own 
upon  the  subject  of  that  disease. 

"  Now,  not  to  bore  you  with  unnecessary  details 
and  technicalities,  there  was,  I  think,  a  certain 
ground  for  suspicion  in  what  he  told  me,  quite 
apart  from  my  own  prejudices.  There  is  nothing 
in  nature  so  rare  as  the  perfectly  normal.  When 
you  find  symptoms  of  a  disease  running  absolutely 
true  to  type,  there  are  moderate  grounds  for  the 
presumption  that  the  disease  is  simulated,  hyster- 
ically or  otherwise." 

"  I  suppose,"  I  remarked,  "  that  the  man  may 
have  been  an  impostor  from  a  medical  standpoint 
and  still  be  the  real  Christopher  Morton." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  are  right.  That  is  eii- 
203 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

tirely  possible.  I  did  try  one  experiment  on  him. 
I  told  him  he  was  undoubtedly  suffering  from 
neurasthenia;  that  rest  from  the  distractions  of 
Paris  was  what  he  needed,  and  I  advised  him  to 
retire  to  his  chateau  in  the  Touraine  in  search  of 
it.  Undoubtedly,  at  that  he  flashed  at  me  a  little 
glance  of  surprise.  But  he  recovered  himself  in- 
stantly. '  Oh,'  he  said  politely,  '  I  wasn't  aware 
that  I  had  the  honor  to  be  so  well  known  to  you.' 
With  that  he  promised  to  put  my  advice  into  im- 
mediate effect,  and  shortly  thereafter  took  his 
leave." 

"  What  did  he  look  like?  "  I  asked. 

"  About  your  age,  about  your  size  and  coloring. 
He  was  clean  shaven,  but  he  bore  what  might  pass 
for  a  family  resemblance  to  yourself.  He  was  ob- 
viously a  gentleman.  He  spoke  good  French — 
almost  as  good  as  yours." 

"  And,"  I  prompted  him,  "  you  thought  that 
you  saw  him  in  the  car  with  Duggleby  on  the  way 
down  here?  " 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  How  do 
I  know?  "  said  he.  "  I  thought  I  did,  but  when  I 
thought  that,  I  was  under  the  impression  that  he 
was  a  mere  tool  or  accomplice  of  the  Dugglebys. 
I  never  should  have  thought  of  it  but  for  that 
prejudice.  I  had  only  time  for  one  look  as  I 
went  flying  by,  and  that  look  I  directed  at  Dug- 

204 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PATIENT 

gleby.  Well,  we  are  sure  of  him,  at  any  rate. 
We  know  he  is  at  hand  and  that  he  means  mis- 
chief." 

At  that  he  rose  and  came  over  toward  me. 

"  There  is  the  end  of  my  adventure,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE   MAN    I    WAS 

THEN,  resting  his  hand  affectionately  on  my 
shoulder,  he  went  on: 

"  I  hope  that  in  after  years  you  may  not  think 
of  me,  Monsieur  Barras,  as  a  person  entirely  with- 
out mercy ;  but  I  have  asked  difficult  things  of  you 
before,  and  I  am  afraid  I  must  ask  another  now. 
I  want  to  hear  what  Miss  Heatherfield  can  tell 
me,  or  what  she  is  willing  to  tell  me  of  the  man 
she  believes  you  to  be.  And  I  am  going  to  ask 
her  to  tell  it  to  me  alone." 

The  request  was  altogether  unexpected,  and  I'm 
afraid  that  in  the  first  moment  of  my  surprise  I 
did  not  receive  it  with  very  good  grace. 

"  If  I  have  done  difficult  things  before,  mon- 
sieur," I  said,  "  it  has  been  because  I  was  able  to 
see  the  reason.  But  what  possible  reason  can  there 
be  for  keeping  me  in  the  dark  any  longer  than 
necessary  ?  " 

"  Answer  me  a  question  first,"  he  said.  "  An- 
swer it  truly  and  without  regard  either  to  your 

206 


THE    MAN    I    WAS 

hopes  or  to  the  presence  of  Miss  Heatherfield 
there  beside  you.  What  has  been  the  effect  upon 
your  memory  of  these  hours  you  have  had  with 
her  to-day?  Does  the  sight  of  her,  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  bring  up  old  associations,  however 
vague?  " 

I  had  to  think  a  minute  before  I  could  answer 
him,  and  when  I  did,  the  nature  of  the  answer  I 
must  make  surprised  me. 

"No,"  said  I;  "if  anything,  it  has  been  the 
other  way  about.  Her  actual  presence,  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  seem  to  make  my  old  pictures  and 
dreams  recede  and  grow  fainter." 

He  nodded.  "  Then  you  see  the  reason  now  for 
yourself,  Monsieur  Barras.  But  you're  a  good 
lad.  Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  honest  men 
would  have  lied  then.  And  I'll  promise  you  this. 
If  I  think,  as  your  medical  adviser,  that  you  may 
hear  the  story,  then  you  shall  hear  it  to-night,  only 
I  must  hear  it  first  and  have  the  opportunity  to 
determine." 

I  bade  Virginia  a  reluctant  good  night  and 
nodded  to  the  doctor. 

"  Come  to  my  room  when  you've  finished,  any- 
way, even  if  it's  only  to  tell  me  that  I'm  not  to 
be  told  anything.     I'll  wait  up  for  you." 
'  Very  well,"  said  the  doctor. 

He  had  asked  Virginia  for  half  an  hour,  but 
207 


,THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

for  more  than  twice  as  long  as  that  I  paced  my 
solitary  chamber  restlessly,  glancing  impatiently  at 
my  watch  every  other  minute.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  any  human  communication  could  take 
so  long — at  least  my  petulant  resentment  told  me 
that. 

I  was  beginning  to  wonder  whether  he  had  not 
forgotten  the  last  half  of  his  promise  altogether 
and  gone  to  bed  without  even  coming  to  tell  me 
that  he  thought  it  best  to  tell  me  nothing,  when 
I  heard  a  light  tap  on  the  door.  I  had  not  even 
heard  the  footfall  which  preceded  it. 

"  Come  in,"  I  called  rather  gruffly. 

"  May  I?  "  said  a  voice.  "  Are  you  sure  you 
want  me  to  ?  " 

And  then  the  door  opened  slowly  and  I  saw,  not 
the  doctor,  but  Virginia  herself.  No  picture  that 
my  dreams  reported,  and  no  sight  my  waking  eyes 
had  seen,  had  ever  been  as  beautiful  as  was  the 
woman  who  stood  there  now  in  my  doorway,  wait- 
ing my  invitation  to  come  in.  She  seemed  to  read 
it  in  my  face,  for  without  another  word  from  me 
she  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  You've  come — yourself,  to  tell  me  what 
you've  been  telling  the  doctor? "  I  questioned, 
wondering  and  half  in  doubt,  for  the  thing  seemed 
too  good  to  be  true. 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  she  answered.  "  That  shall 
208 


THE    MAN    I    WAS 

be  as  you  say,  after  I  have  told  you  what  I  shall 
have  to  tell  you  first." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  selfish,"  said  I.  "  I  mustn't 
ask  you  to  tell  me  anything  that  will  be  painful 
to  you  to  repeat.  I  shouldn't  want  to  hear  from 
you  more  than  you  want  to  tell,  Virginia." 

Her  color  had  been  high  before,  but  now,  for 
just  an  instant,  it  flamed  still  higher  and  her  eyes 
burned  with  a  sudden  light. 

"  I  know,"  I  went  on,  "  I  ought  to  apologize 
to  you  for  calling  you  by  that  name,  but  I  want  to, 
somehow.  It's  the  only  name  I  really  know  you 
by." 

"  Yes,"  she  said;  "  I  want  you  to  call  me  that, 
too.  And  it  isn't  the  fear  of  the  pain  that  makes 
me  hesitate  about  telling  you  the  story  I  just  told 
M.  de  Villiers.  I — I  begged  him  to  let  me  tell 
you,  and  he  consented,  at  last,  only  very  reluc- 
tantly. He  said,  when  he  had  heard  it  all,  that, 
as  your  doctor,  he  couldn't  advise  my  telling 
you.  He  feared  it  might  retard  your  recovery. 
But  on  personal  grounds,  he  said,  if  you  wished 
still  to  know  and  I  was  anxious  still  to  tell 
you,  he  felt  that  he  couldn't  refuse.  Only  he 
wanted  me  to  give  you  that  message  first  and  let 
you  decide." 

She  had  spoken  in  a  rather  abstracted  manner, 
as  one  repeating  something,  something  that  her 

209 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

own  heart  was  not  in.  'And  at  the  end  she  waited, 
rather  tensely,  I  thought,  for  my  decision.  I  did 
not  keep  her  waiting  long. 

"  That's  understood,  then,"  said  I.  "  For  this 
little  half  hour  I'm  going  to  cease  to  be  a  case 
of  M.  de  Villiers's.  I  want  for  once  to  be  a  hu- 
man being  instead." 

Her  eyes  brightened  with  sudden  tears.  "  It 
takes  a  word  like  that  to  make  me  realize  the  cour- 
age you  show  every  hour,"  she  said. 

The  night  was  warm,  and  my  room,  lighted  by 
guttering,  smoky  candles,  had  become  close.  I 
pulled  my  great  window  wide  open  upon  its 
creaking  hinges,  and  placed  the  one  chair  which 
the  room  boasted  in  the  embrasure.  The  moon 
was  still  an  hour  high  in  the  sky  and  shining  slant- 
wise upon  the  white  walls  and  tiled  roofs  of  the 
little  village. 

"  Sit  here,"  I  told  Virginia. 

I  extinguished  the  candles,  and  the  room  was 
hardly  darker  thereby.  Then,  opposite  to  where 
she  sat  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  I  brought 
the  little  pair  of  carpeted  steps  that  gave  access 
to  my  tall  four-poster  bed,  and  seated  myself 
facing  her. 

"  Now  tell  me  the  story,"  said  I. 

But  she  sat  for  a  while  in  silence,  gazing  out 
over  the  house  tops,  before  she  began. 

210 


THE    MAN    I   WAS 

"  The  man  I  knew  lived  in  Cleveport,  that  hor- 
rible, horrible  city  that  has  grown,  like  a  fringe, 
about  the  great  shipyards  of  the  Morton-Dug- 
gleby  Company.  He  was  very  poor.  When  my 
father  first  became  acquainted  with  him  he  was 
working  as  a  laborer — a  common,  unskilled  laborer 
— in  one  of  the  steel  mills.  Afterwards,  at  my 
father's  suggestion,  almost  at  his  insistence,  he 
taught  himself  shorthand  and  secured  a  clerical 
position.  He  talked  very  little  about  himself, 
even  to  my  father  and  to,  me,  and  not  at  all  to 
anyone  else,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was  educated 
far  above  the  position  in  which  we  found  him. 
The  whole  passion  and  purpose  of  his  life  seemed 
to  be  to  share  the  labors  and  sorrows  of  the  un- 
fortunate people  who  lived  and  worked  in  that 
dreadful  city.  He  seemed  to  try  to  bear  the  whole 
load  upon  his  single  shoulders,  and  it  seemed 
sometimes  to  my  father,  as  well  as  to  me,  that  the 
effort  would  kill  him. 

"  I  told  you  this  evening  how  I  tried  to  play 
the  philanthropist  there  in  Cleveport,  to  the  neg- 
lect of  my  father;  how  I  worked  and  taught 
and  did  the  little  I  could  among  the  poor  there. 
Well,  it  was  his  interest  in  those  unfortunate 
people  that  excited  mine.  He  taught  me — 
taught  me,  I  believe,  all  the  real  humanity  I  ever 
knew." 

211 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  How  long  did  you  know  him  there  at  Cleve- 
port?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  is  about  two  and  a  half  years  since  I  first 
met  him.  It  is  about  a  year  since  he  disap- 
peared  " 

"  After  having  betrayed  your  father's  trust  in 
him?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  never  could  believe  that,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  I  believed  him  dead.  It  was  only  for  a  moment 
when  I  saw  you,  alive,  and  thought  you  were  he, 
that  my  father's  explanation  occurred  to  me.  But 
I  do  not  believe  in  it  now." 

"  You  told  the  doctor,"  said  I,  "  that  the  man 
you  knew  was  not  Christopher  Morton.  Might 
he  not  have  been,  after  all?  " 

"  Oh — you  don't  know  Cleveport,"  she  said, 
a  little  irrelevantly  it  seemed  to  me.  "  You  can't 
even  dream  of  the  horrors  of  a  place  like  that.  It 
needn't  have  been  horrible  if  there  had  been  a 
grain  of  humanity  in  the  men  who  were  respon- 
sible for  the  conditions.  Christopher  Morton  was 
contented  to  live  in  Paris  upon  the  wealth  that 
these  poor,  oppressed,  wretched  people  were  earn- 
ing for  him.  Oh,  I  know  that  sounds  altruistic 
and  absurd,  but  Cleveport  would  make  anyone  talk 
that  way.  And  when  you  ask  me  to  believe  that 
the  man  I  worked  with  there  for  a  year  and  a  half 
— the  man  who  was  giving  his  life  to  accomplish 

212 


THE    MAN    I   WAS 

what  amounted  to  so  little  in  that  great  total  of 
misery — "  She  broke  off,  and  completed  the  sen- 
tence with  a  shiver. 

"  Is  there  any  other  reason  why  you  are  so 
sure?  "  I  asked. 

She  hesitated  a  little  and  her  lips  trembled. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  there  is.  I  think  if  that  had 
been  his  secret,  he — he  would  have  told  me." 

"  Did  he  ever  tell  you  anything,  that  man  you 
knew,  about  what  his  life  had  been  before  he  came 
to  Cleveport — about  his  childhood  or  the  circum- 
stances which  had  put  him  into  that  place  in  life 
where  you  found  him?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  He  never  told  us  anything 
at  all.  When  we  first  met  him,  we  asked  him  some 
innocent  questions,  but  it  seemed  that  they  hurt 
him;  that  the  subject  was,  for  some  reason,  pain- 
ful to  him;  so,  of  course,  we  never  pressed  him 
for  answers.  And  after  we  had  come  to  know 
him  as  we  did,  the  man  himself  was  enough  with- 
out any  past." 

There  was  another  silence  between  us  after  that. 
It  was  I  who  finally  broke  it. 

"  Virginia,"  I  began,  "  was  it  one  evening,  later 
than  usual,  that  your  father  came  home  to  tell  you 
that  his  laboratory  had  been  robbed?  Was  sup- 
per for  three  people  set  ready  on  the  table?  Was 
the  man  you  have  been  telling  me  about  playing 

213 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

the  piano  while  he  waited  with  you  for  your  father 
to  come  home?  Was  the  thing  he  played  a  string 
of  extempore  variations  of  his  own  on  the  old 
nursery  tune  '  London  Bridge  '  ?  " 

At  the  first  of  my  questions  her  face,  there  in 
the  moonlight,  had  turned  chalk  white.  Her  eyes 
burned  brighter  and  brighter,  and  her  gaze  seemed 
to  be  searching  the  innermost  recesses  of  my  soul. 
And  as  I  finished,  she  cried  out,  half  voicelessly: 

"  Morton !  Morton !  "  and  flung  herself  upon 
her  knees  beside  me  and  held  me  fast,  fast  in  the 
embrace  of  her  young  arms. 

"  Morton — "  she  repeated  in  a  whisper.  She 
was  sobbing,  shuddering,  but  it  was  with  the  ex- 
cess of  an  overwhelming  joy. 

For  a  moment,  giddy  and  unresisting,  I  let  the 
force  of  that  current  sweep  me  away.  I  loved  her 
and  she  loved  me.  And  love  was  all  that  mat- 
tered. What  other  fact  could  there  be  in  all  the 
universal  cosmos  that  could  matter ;  that  could  dare 
to  raise  its  head  and  hiss  dissent,  in  the  face  of 
this  one  stupendous  verity? 

Holding  her  tight  in  my  own  arms  now,  I  kissed 
her  hair,  her  forehead,  her  eyes,  and,  last  of  all, 
her  warm,  responsive  lips.  The  rest  of  the  world 
was  nothing  but  a  pretense,  a  picture.  We  two, 
alive,  fast  in  each  others'  arms — we  were  the 
world. 

214 


THE    MAN    I   WAS 

Suddenly,  with  her  hands  upon  my  shoulders, 
she  thrust  herself  a  little  away,  out  at  arm's  length, 
where,  once  more,  she  could  look  into  my  face. 

"  Is  that  all  you  remember,"  she  whispered  un- 
steadily, "  all  you  remember  of  that  day?  " 

"  It  was  not  memory,"  said  I;  "at  least  I  dare 
not  call  it  that.  It  was  a  dream  I  had  on  ship- 
board, a  dream  from  which  I  wakened  to  see  you 
and  your  father  passing  by  me  on  the  deck." 

"  And  the  dream  tells  you  no  more  than  that?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  What  is  there  more  to  tell, 
Virginia?  " 

:'  There  is  this — "  Her  eyes  widened  and  she 
searched  my  face.  "  Oh,  try,  try  to  remember ! 
Now  as  I  tell  you,  try  to  call  the  memory  back! 
There  is  this.  On  that  day,  that  very  same  day, 
in  the  old  brick  church  in  Cleveport,  you  and  I 
were  married!  " 

My  hands  dropped  away  from  her,  lifeless,  and 
I  reeled  a  little  bit  giddily.  For  a  moment  her 
hands  remained  on  my  shoulders,  and  her  implor- 
ing eyes  searched  mine  for  the  spark  that  was  not 
there. 

Then,  with  a  sob,  she  sank  down,  crouching,  on 
the  floor  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

With  all  the  force  of  my  will  I  steadied  myself, 
fought  my  way  back  out  of  that  welter  of  emotion 
to  solid  rock  again.  If  I  were  anything  that  de- 
15  215 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

served  to  be  called  a  man,  I  must  be  strong  now; 
for  her  as  well  as  for  myself.  I  did  not  speak  to 
her,  did  not  try  any  of  the  conventional  ways  to 
calm  her.  Instead,  I  went  to  the  window  and, 
leaning  against  the  casement,  stood  looking  out. 

After  a  while  she  rose  and  came  and  stood  be- 
side me.  '  You  understand  the  virtue  of  silence, 
Morton,"  she  said.  "  You  always  did." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  that?  " 

"  It  was  the  name  I  learned  to  call  you  by,"  she 
answered  unsteadily.  "  The  name  of  the  man  in, 
Cleveport  was  Morton  Smith." 

I  saw  by  the  suddenly  renewed  tension  of  her 
figure  and  the  way  she  caught  her  breath  that  she 
had  not  pronounced  that  name  without  a  hope  that 
it  would  serve  to  call  back  the  past,  or  at  least 
some  part  of  it,  to  me.  But  it  did  not  bring  even 
the  faintest  gleam,  not  even  a  half-placed  feeling 
of  familiarity.  And  seeing  that  this  was  so,  sud- 
denly, and  I  think  involuntarily,  she  shrank  a  lit- 
tle away  from  me. 

"  Oh,"  she  breathed  hardly  above  a  whisper, 
"  how  can  you  be  you,  if  you've  forgotten  all 
that?  There's  nothing?"  she  went  on  in  a  tone 
of  hopeless  questioning,  "  no  memory  that  comes 
back  now  after  I've  told  you  all?  No  gleam  that 
suggests  a  returning  memory?  " 

"Nothing,"  said  I;  "nothing  but  those  faint, 
216 


THE    MAN   I   WAS 

half-lighted  dreams  that  I  told  you  of.    And  even 
they  seem  fading." 

I  had  answered  her  with  only  half  my  mind. 
The  other  half  was  still  busy  with  that  despairing 
exclamation  of  hers:  "How  can  you  be  you!" 
And  dimly,  then,  there  came  the  suggestion  of  an 
answer.  And  the  answer  was,  that  I  might  not 
be  one  man,  but  two.  Nay,  if  that  were  true,  why 
not  three  or  half  a  dozen  ?  There  were  tragedies 
like  that  in  the  world,  I  knew ;  figures  of  men  com- 
plete in  body  and  mind,  but  body  and  mind  not 
a  permanent  habitation  for  a  human  soul — for 
that  essential,  innermost  thing  that  calls  itself  I, 
but  a  mere  temporary  lodging,  a  house  to  let,  occu- 
pied now  by  one  fugitive  spirit  and  now  by  an- 
other. 

What  if  that  were  true?  What  if  this  counter- 
feit presentment  of  a  man  who  stood  beside  Vir- 
ginia now,  the  image  of  the  man  she  loved,  talk- 
ing to  her  in  his  voice,  reminding  her  of  him  with 
his  unconscious,  characteristic  actions,  were  really 
and  in  truth  nothing  more  than  the  temporary 
"  Simon  Barras "  that  the  doctor  so  playfully 
christened  him  that  day  in  his  room  at  the  hotel? 
Morton  Smith  had  occupied  that  body  once  and 
gone  away.  Had  there  been  any  previous  occu- 
pants? It  was  likely  enough. 

That  was  my  train  of  thought,  and  I  stopped 
217 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

it  short.  It  might  be  true,  but  it  was  inconceiv- 
able. A  man  cannot  doubt  his  own  identity  and 
remain  sane.  Even  as  I  stood  there,  shaken  and 
horrified  with  the  idea  that  had  come  over  me,  I 
was  conscious  of  a  clamorous,  turbulent  ego  that 
would  not  be  denied — who  intended  to  assert  his 
rights  and  insist  upon  them. 

"  Yet,"  Virginia  said,  "  you  did  not  forget  it 
all.  You  remembered  my  face,  my  name ;  remem- 
bered— that  you  loved  me — didn't  you?  " 

At  that  I  caught  up  her  hands  and  kissed  them. 

"  It  was  the  picture  of  your  face  and  the  love 
that  went  with  it  which  gave  me  the  courage  and 
the  determination  to  escape  from  Dr.  Berry's 
asylum,  that  set  me  trying  to  find  my  lost  self. 
And  now  that  I  know  that  that  lost  self  is  the  man 
you  loved  and  married,  I  have  twice  the  courage 
and  twice  the  determination  to  find  him.  We  shall 
find  him,  Virginia,  somewhere  in  the  world,  and 
we  shall  bring  him  back." 

She  raised  my  hands,  which  still  were  holding 
hers,  and  pressed  them  against  her  breast. 

"That's  all  I  want,"  she  said — "to  know,  I 
mean,  that  you  remembered  me  and  that  you  loved 
me.  What  does  anything  else  matter  but  that? 
Isn't  that  enough  to  know ;  that  we  love  each  other 
and — that  we're  married,  Morton,  dear?  " 

How  could  I  make  her  understand  that  I  was 
218 


THE    MAN    I    WAS 

not  the  man  she  married?  That  until  I  could 
summon  back  the  hours  which  must  live  in  that 
lost  man's  memory,  of  casual  acquaintance  with 
her,  and  friendship  and  love  and  intimacy,  I  was, 
in  spite  of  my  dream  pictures,  hardly  more  than  a 
stranger  to  her! 

I  tried,  but  my  words  went  wide  of  the  mark. 
She  listened,  untroubled,  uncomprehending,  for  a 
while  to  the  thing  I  was  trying  to  tell  her.  Finally, 
with  a  little  laugh,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  my  lips. 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  she  said.  "  I  can  re- 
member for  both  of  us.  You're  not  to  worry  any 
more,  not  now  at  least." 

Both  her  palms  were  pressing  against  my  tem- 
ples then.  The  next  moment  she  slipped  them 
back  and  clasped  her  fingers  behind  my  head,  drew 
it  forward  and  laid  her  cool  cheek  against  my 
bearded  one. 

"  You  feel  a  little  feverish,"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  be  ill,  Morton,  but  if  you  were  ill, 
oh,  how  I  should  love  nursing  you." 

"  No  more!  "  I  said  hoarsely.  "  No  more  to- 
night! To-morrow — to-morrow  we  will  talk." 

She  drew  back  and  looked  at  me,  wondering, 
but  still  untroubled.  Then,  with  a  smile  of  divine 
maternal  tenderness,  she  kissed  me,  once  more, 
upon  the  lips,  and  was  gone. 

For  a  while,  a  minute,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  a 
219 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

half  hour,  I  stood  staring  at  the  shadowy  door 
which  had  closed  behind  her.  At  the  end  of  it  I 
went  out  into  the  corridor,  and  seeing  a  light  in 
the  doctor's  room,  I  entered  without  ceremony. 

"  I  want  something  that  will  make  me  sleep," 
said  I.  "  I  can't  answer  questions  to-night.  I 
must  sleep  first." 

He  had  been  pacing  the  room,  clad  in  his  dress- 
ing gown,  when  I  entered.  Without  a  word,  with 
no  more  than  a  keen,  penetrating  glance,  he  went 
to  his  bag  and  drew  out  a  hypodermic  syringe.  I 
did  not  speak,  either,  until  he  had  filled  it,  and  I 
had  silently  bared  my  arm  for  the  needle  thrust. 

"  Doctor,"  said  I,  as  the  little  plunger  went 
home,  "  if  a  man  has  two  personalities,  each  dis- 
tinct from  the  other,  is  he  justified  in  acting  as  if 
he  had  any  right  to  either  of  them?  " 

He  started;  looked  me  full  in  the  face. 
"  Where  did  you  pick  up  a  morbid  idea  like 
that?  "  he  demanded,  with  signs  of  a  more  severe 
displeasure  than  he  often  showed.  "  Drop  it!  It 
isn't  a  safe  sort  of  toy  to  play  with,  a  notion  like 
that.  It  is  with  such  ideas  that  men  go  mad." 

And  yet  could  he  have  disowned  the  same  idea 
himself?  Something  I  had  seen  in  his  face  made 
me  doubt  it. 


CHAPTER   XX 

IN   THE    ROAD 

CONTRARY  to  my  expectations,  I  must  have 
gone  off,  almost  immediately,  to  sleep,  for 
the  next  thing  I  knew,  after  my  head  had  touched 
the  pillow,  I  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  bed  lis- 
tening to  the  roar  of  a  motor  car  in  the  street,  out- 
side my  window.  It  had  come  to  a  stop  before 
the  inn  entrance,  but,  as  if  their  pause  were  to  be 
but  momentary,  the  chauffeur  had  merely  thrown 
out  his  clutch,  and  had  not  killed  his  engine. 

Presently,  above  the  throb  of  the  racing  pistons, 
I  heard  a  voice  cry  out  in  French : 

"  Look  alive  in  there,  somebody!  How  far  is 
it  to  Tours?" 

It  was  only  just  past  dawn,  on  an  early  July 
morning,  and  the  little  village  of  Mettray,  includ- 
ing our  inn,  was  still  fast  asleep.  The  shouted  ques- 
tion received  no  response.  But  evidently  the  trav- 
elers were  in  earnest.  The  jingle  of  the  inn  bell 
told  me  that  one  of  them  had  dismounted  from  the 
car. 

221 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Tours?  "  the  voice  repeated. 

Then  I  heard  a  window  opening  somewhere 
and  the  landlord's  sleepy  voice  speaking  in  reply. 

"  Nine  kilometers.  Can't  you  read  the  sign- 
board, imbecile?  " 

Evidently  the  travelers  saw  fit  to  ignore  the  epi- 
thet. There  was  a  murmur  of  voices  in- inaudible 
discussion,  and  then  the  chauffeur  stopped  the 
motor. 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  who  was  doing  the  talk- 
ing for  the  travelers,  "  with  two  flat  tires,  even  nine 
kilometers  seems  a  long  way.  Can  you  give  us  a 
decent  breakfast?  " 

"  But  most  assuredly,"  said  the  landlord,  becom- 
ing affable  at  once  at  the  prospect  of  profit. 
"  Wait  just  a  moment,  messieurs,  and  I  will  open 
the  door." 

"  Well,  be  quick  about  it,"  said  the  other  man. 
"  We  have  been  all  night  coming  here  from  Char- 
tres  and  have  lost  our  way  a  dozen  times.  We  are 
famished  with  hunger,  and  one  of  our  party  has 
met  with  an  accident." 

The  window  closed  with  a  slam.  Then,  after  a 
rather  long  delay,  I  heard  the  creaking  of  the  great 
inn  door.  Evidently  the  landlord  had  succeeded  in 
rousing  a  porter,  whose  tardiness  he  was  berating 
by  way  of  apology  for  his  own. 

"  They  sleep  like  the  dead,  these  servants,"  he 
222 


IN    THE    ROAD 

said.  Then,  apparently  addressing  the  man  him- 
self, he  exclaimed  ferociously :  "  Come,  thou,  great 
camel  that  thou  art,  and  take  the  luggage  of  these 
messieurs  up  to  the  grand  apartment  on  the  first 
floor.  They  will  wish  to  make  a  toilet  before 
breakfast." 

"  We  have  no  luggage  with  us,"  said  the  spokes- 
man, after  a  moment's  hesitation.  And  then  he 
added:  "We  had  it  sent  on  from  Chartres  by 
grande  vitesse" 

Then  I  heard  steps  mounting  the  stairs,  and  my 
interest  in  the  little  episode  seemed  about  over.  I 
lay  back  in  bed  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep  again,  but 
just  then  something  occurred  to  me  that  struck  me 
as  a  little  curious.  The  discussion  between  the  two 
men  in  the  car  had  been  too  low  to  be  audible 
through  my  open  window,  but  from  the  inflection 
of  it  I  suddenly  became  convinced  that  it  had  been 
carried  on  in  English.  Well,  even  if  it  were,  I 
told  myself,  there  was  nothing  really  strange  about 
that. 

Trifling  indeed  as  the  whole  incident  was,  no 
doubt  it  proved  sufficient  to  put  an  end  to  my  very 
brief  night's  sleep.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of 
restless  tossing  had  convinced  me  that  this  was  so, 
I  rose,  dressed  as  quietly  as  possible  in  order  not  to 
disturb  my  companions  in  the  adjoining  rooms,  and 
made  my  way  down  the  inn  stairs  to  the  street. 

223 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

The  car  stood  there  in  the  road,  just  where  the 
chauffeur  had  stopped  it,  and  that  functionary  was 
hard  at  work  upon  the  tires.  The  car  was  a  big 
limousine,  evidently  intended  for  town  rather  than 
for  country  use.  But  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
it  had  been  making  a  wild  night  of  it.  At  the  sound 
of  my  step  the  chauffeur  started  a  little,  looked 
quickly  around,  and  directed  a  rather  searching 
glance  at  me.  Then,  quite  as  quickly,  he  turned 
his  back  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

I  tucked  my  walking  stick  under  my  arm  and  set 
out  rather  aimlessly  down  the  road,  over  which  I 
had  driven  with  Virginia  and  her  father  the  after- 
noon before.  It  was  an  absolutely  entrancing 
morning;  cool,  sparkling,  fragrant,  and  with  that 
curious  quality  which  can  only  be  described  by  the 
word  "  intimate,"  which  to  me,  at  least,  always  dis- 
tinguishes the  French  out  of  doors  from  out  of 
doors  anywhere  else. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  trudged  along  in  a 
happy  and  rather  careless  mood.  The  gray  cloud 
of  mystery,  which  hung  so  heavily  over  my  past, 
and  out  of  which  I  had  seen  so  many  lurid,  menac- 
ing flashes,  seemed  this  morning  to  have  shrunk 
and  withdrawn  itself,  till  it  was  no  larger  upon 
my  horizon  than  a  man's  hand.  Everything  would 
come  right,  somehow,  and  soon  at  that.  There  was 
nothing  to  worry  about.  In  an  hour  or  two  I 

224 


IN   THE    ROAD 

should  see  Virginia  and  should  be  sharing  this  en- 
trancing day  with  her. 

I  increased  my  pace  a  little  to  keep  time  with  the 
jigging  nursery  tune  which  was  running  through 
my  head,  and  with  my  walking  stick  decapitated 
the  crimson  poppies  which  flowered  along  the  road- 
side. 

The  sound  of  a  motor  car  coming  down  the  road 
behind  me  had  been  in  my  ears  for  some  time  be- 
fore I  became  fully  aware  of  it.  It  was  running 
at  a  great  pace,  as  motor  cars  do  along  the  white, 
smooth  national  roads  of  France.  When  I  did 
become  aware  of  it  I  was  startled  to  find  it  so  near, 
and  had  no  more  than  comfortable  time  to  step 
out  of  the  roadway  before  it  flashed  past  me.  The 
cloud  of  dust  which  it  sucked  up  behind  itself 
screened  it  almost  immediately  from  my  eyes,  but 
I  had  time  to  see  that  it  was  the  same  car  whose 
occupants  had  breakfasted  at  our  little  inn  at  Met- 
tray.  I  thought  I  saw,  through  the  veil  of  dust,  a 
face  gazing  at  me  through  the  little  back  window, 
and  the  sight  of  the  face  made  me  think  instantly 
of  Alexander  Duggleby. 

But  I  dismissed  the  thought  impatiently.  It  had 
been  absolutely  impossible  to  distinguish  the  fea- 
tures, and  the  likeness  I  had  seen  was  probably 
wholly  imaginary  and  fanciful.  Of  course  it  was 
not  in  the  least  impossible  that  Duggleby  might  be 

225 


in  the  car,  but  there  was  no  sane  and  valid  reason 
for  thinking  so.  I  told  myself,  with  a  shrug,  that 
I  was  not  going  to  begin  seeing  goblin  Dugglebys 
in  every  dark  corner  and  behind  every  bush,  like  a 
frightened  child. 

So  I  walked  on,  steadily  enough,  down  the  road, 
though  the  careless  gayety  of  my  mood  had  de- 
parted. 

Presently  there  arose  on  one  side  of  the  roadway 
a  high  stone  wall,  forming  the  boundary  of  some 
large  private  park,  and  near  the  corner  of  it  was  a 
great  solid  wooden  gate.  A  sense  of  complete 
familiarity  with  it  prevented  its  attracting  my  at- 
tention very  strongly,  but  as  I  was  passing  by  the 
gate  I  saw  something  that  did,  namely,  the  curving 
tracks  of  the  automobile  which  had  passed  me  so 
short  a  time  before  on  the  road.  Evidently  it  had 
turned  in  here.  Even  then  my  mind  occupied  itself 
with  the  phenomenon  only  in  a  purely  mechanical 
way.  It  registered  the  observation  without  inter- 
preting it  at  all.  If  I  had  given  one  thought — one 
single  thought — to  the  significance  of  the  thing  that 
was  under  my  eyes,  I  should  never  have  done  what 
I  proceeded  to  do — never  should  have  gone  walk- 
ing on,  careless  of  danger,  fatuous  in  the  fancied 
security  of  broad  daylight  and  the  public  road. 

The  wall,  which  continued  as  far  as  my  eye  could 
reach  on  the  left  side  of  the  road,  now  had  a  coun- 

226 


IN   THE    ROAD 

terpart  to  itself  on  the  right.  So  that  ahead  of  me, 
at  least  as  far  as  the  next  curve,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  my  road  was,  in  fact,  nothing  but  a  trench 
with  sheer  walls,  eight  feet  high,  or  so,  on  both 
sides  of  it. 

I  had  gone,  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  past  the 
gate,  when  I  heard  it  creak  and,  simultaneously, 
the  racing  whir  of  the  motor  came  to  my  ears. 
Looking  round,  I  saw  the  big  limousine  come  back- 
ing out  into  the  road.  Then  it  reversed,  and  re- 
sumed its  original  direction,  coming  along  toward 
me,  upon  the  walled-in  road,  innocently  enough, 
and  not  very  fast. 

It  is  curious  how  the  mind  endeavors  to  com- 
pensate for  its  deficiencies,  either  occasional  or  per- 
manent. A  moment  ago  when  I  had  passed  that 
gate  the  whole  enginery  of  my  thought  had  lain 
dormant.  My  eyes  had  reported  certain  facts,  but 
my  mind  had  stuffed  them  into  the  first  pigeonhole 
without  looking  to  see  what  they  meant.  But  now, 
as  if  to  atone  for  that  folly,  it  sprang  into  a  state 
of  most  unnatural  activity. 

The  occupants  of  that  car  had  stopped  and 
breakfasted  at  the  little  inn  at  Mettray,  giving  as 
a  reason  that  the  nine  kilometers  between  them  and 
Tours  seemed  too  far.  They  would  not  have  done 
that  if  their  destination  at  that  time  had  been  this 
green  wooden  gate  in  the  wall.  They  could  have 

227 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

turned  in  there  for  no  other  purpose,  then,  than  to 
give  themselves,  once  more,  an  opportunity  which 
they  had  wasted  when  they  flashed  by  me  on  the 
road  a  few  minutes  earlier.  They  had  turned  into 
that  gate  to  wait  for  me  to  go  by,  simply  in  order 
that  they  might  come  up  behind  me  again.  That 
was  what  they  were  doing  now.  There  was  noth- 
ing alarming  about  their  appearance  or  about  the 
speed  of  the  car.  They  were  running  well  in  the 
middle  of  the  fairly  broad  road,  and  the  natural 
thing  for  a  pedestrian  to  do  would  be  to  turn  out 
a  little  to  one  side  to  give  them  room  to  pass,  and 
walk  on  at  his  own  gait,  without  even  so  much  as 
turning  his  head. 

But  I  knew — knew  all  in  a  flash — that  if  I  ven- 
tured to  do  that,  my  battered  body  would  be  found 
lying,  crumpled  up,  in  the  road  by  the  next  passer- 
by; and  Alexander  Duggleby  would  have  accom- 
plished his  purpose. 

The  whole  of  that  train  of  thought  flashed 
through  my  mind  in  an  instant.  I  had  seen  and 
comprehended  the  entire  situation  before  the  auto- 
mobile was  twenty  paces  nearer  me  than  it  had 
been  when  it  started  toward  me  in  the  road. 

But,  even  understanding  fully  what  was  in  my 
enemy's  mind,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  The  road,  as  I 
have  said,  was  nothing  but  a  trench,  and  it  con- 
tinued so  for  a  full  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead.  The 

228 


IN    THE    ROAD 

first  instinctive  plan  that  suggested  itself  to  me 
was  to  run.  And  yet  I  saw  instantly  that  if  they 
were  seriously  determined  to  kill  me,  I  had  about 
as  much  chance  to  escape  them  in  that  way  as  a 
man  pursued  down  a  railway  tunnel  by  a  loco- 
motive. They  would  overtake  me  and  run  me 
down,  at  leisure,  before  I  could  cover  half  the 
distance. 

An  automobile  steers  more  easily  and  accurately 
when  it  is  running  fast  than  when  it  is  running 
slowly.  My  flight  would  only  give  them  the  hun- 
dred yards  or  so  that  they  needed  to  get  up  speed. 
Its  speed  was  increasing  now,  but  still  it  was  not 
going  very  fast. 

After  my  one  brief  glance  at  them  when  they 
turned  out  into  the  road,  I  had  not  looked  back  nor 
shown,  in  any  way,  that  I  suspected  them  of  any 
evil  intent  toward  me.  I  had  turned  out  a  little  to 
the  right,  though  not  to  the  edge  of  the  road  by 
any  means,  and  had  walked  along  without  quicken- 
ing my  pace  in  the  least.  By  the  time  they  had 
come  up  to  within  ten  paces  of  me,  my  plan  was 
fully  formed.  When  they  got  a  little  nearer,  I 
would  look  suddenly  around,  as  if  startled  to  find 
them  so  close,  and  would  then  spring  quickly  to 
one  side;  but  instead  of  springing  away  from  the 
car  and  toward  the  edge  of  the  road,  as  I  knew 
they  would  expect  me  to  do,  I  would  make  my  leap 

229 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

in  the  other  direction,  toward  the  car,  and  into  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

The  curious  feature  about  this  plan  was,  that 
while  it  offered,  probably,  the  best  hope  of  escape 
if  I  were  right  in  thinking  that  they  meant  to  kill 
me;  on  the  other  hand,  if  I  were  wrong,  if  all  they 
meant  to  do  was  to  pass  harmlessly  by,  my  plan 
would  frustrate  that  attempt  as  well  as  the  other, 
and  I  should  meet  a  certain  death  under  their 
wheels.  The  man  driving  that  car  would  certainly 
wrench  his  steering  wheel  around,  one  way  or  the 
other,  when  I  stood  still  in  the  road  and  looked 
back,  and  the  direction  of  my  leap  would  equally 
certainly  surprise  him.  I  should  owe  my  life, 
should  I  succeed  in  saving  it,  to  the  mere  fact  that 
he  deliberately  intended  to  kill  me. 

For  about  the  period  of  the  sharp  spit  of  a 
lightning  flash  my  mind  hesitated;  then  took  its 
decision.  I  stopped  short,  turned  about  rather 
wildly,  and  made  my  spring  toward  the  middle  of 
the  road. 

Well,  I  had  guessed  right.  For  the  car,  at  the 
same  instant,  made  a  sharp  swerve  toward  the  edge 
of  the  road  where  the  driver  had  expected  my 
spring  to  have  landed  me.  He  had  increased  the 
speed  at  the  same  instant — increased  it  so  suddenly 
that  the  great  car  gave  a  bound  like  the  leap  of 
a  wild  animal.  It  was  as  clear  and  remorseless  an 

230 


IN    THE    ROAD 

attempt  at  assassination  as  it  would  have  been  if 
they  had  opened  fire  upon  me. 

I  stood  quite  still  in  the  road  and  watched  them 
as  they  flashed  past,  half  expecting  to  see  the  car 
stop,  turn  around  and  make  another  rush  at  me. 
But  such  an  attempt  must  have  resulted  in  inevi- 
table failure.  I  should  have  plenty  of  time  to  get 
out  of  the  other  end  of  the  trench  before  they  could 
overtake  me,  and  Duggleby  was  too  clever  a  man 
to  do  anything  futile.  The  car  rode  straight  on, 
without  a  pause.  In  a  moment  it  had  flashed 
around  the  curve  at  the  farther  end  of  the  trench. 

I  suppose  the  whole  episode,  from  the  time  when 
the  car  had  first  emerged  from  the  green  gate  until 
I  had  thus  lost  sight  of  it,  had  occupied  something 
less  than  a  minute,  but  I  should  never  pray  for  a 
long  life  if  it  were  to  contain  many  minutes  like 
that.  A  short  one  would  seem  plenty  long  enough. 


16 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE   AFFAIR  IN   THE    CLOAKROOM 

IT  was  about  an  hour  later  that  I  climbed  the 
stairway  in  the  inn  and  knocked  at  the  doctor's 
door.  The  quick  relief  with  which  his  face  lighted 
up  at  the  sight  of  me  convinced  me  that  my  un- 
explained absence  had  worried  him. 

He  admitted  as  much  when  I  taxed  him  with  it. 
"  I  fell  asleep  on  my  sofa  just  about  dawn.  When 
I  wakened  I  was  conscious  that  an  automobile  had 
stopped  here  before  the  inn  for  a  while,  and  then 
gone  on  again.  And  when  a  little  later  I  went  to 
your  room  and  found  it  empty,  my  mind  began  to 
play  fantastic  variations  for  me  upon  the  theme.  I 
imagined  that,  by  some  superhuman  power,  Dug- 
gleby  had  tracked  me  here  and  found  you,  and  si- 
lently made  way  with  you.  In  spite  of  the  com- 
mon-sense explanation  that  you  had  merely  gone 
for  a  walk,  I  was  strongly  tempted  to  send  out  a 
searching  party." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  dropping  into  a  chair,  "  you 
predicted  last  night  that  our  friend  Duggleby 

232 


THE   AFFAIR   IN  THE   CLOAKROOM 

would  soon  give  us  an  evidence  of  his  activities; 
that  prediction  was  right,  although  you  went  wrong 
in  selecting  the  Tours  station  as  the  scene  of  it." 

"  What  I  "  cried  the  doctor.  "  Have  you  seen 
him?" 

"  Neither  seen  him  nor  heard  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  but,  for  all  that,  he  made  an  attempt  to  as- 
sassinate me  not  more  than  an  hour  ago,  out  here 
in  broad  daylight  and  on  the  public  road.  I  am 
as  sure  it  was  he  as  I  would  be  if  I  had  seen  him." 

With  that  introduction,  I  gave  the  doctor  a  mi- 
nute account  of  my  adventures  since  I  had  heard 
the  automobile  arrive  in  front  of  the  inn.  He  was 
gravely  silent  for  a  moment  after  I  had  finished. 
Then  he  came  across  to  me  and  rested  his  hand 
affectionately  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Thank  God  for  a  quick  mind  and  a  good  cour- 
age," he  said,  "  for  they  evidently  saved  your  life. 
But  the  next  thing  on  our  programme  is  breakfast. 
You  must  be  famished,  and  even  I  am  quite  ready 
for  something." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Heatherfields  this  morn- 
ing? "  I  asked. 

"  Just  for  a  word  of  inquiry  about  Mr.  Heather- 
field's  condition,"  he  said.  "  He  seems  quite  him- 
self again  this  morning.  They  are  breakfasting 
together  now,  I  believe.  It  seemed  better,  both 
to  Miss  Heatherfield  and  to  me,  that  she  should 

233 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

remain  quite  alone  with  him  for  a  few  uninter- 
rupted hours,  as  she  will  have  much  to  explain  to 
him,  and  the  explanation  might  be  made  more  diffi- 
cult by  the  intrusion  of  either  one  of  us." 

The  doctor  had  already  rung  the  bell,  and  pres- 
ently there  knocked  at  the  door  a  man,  half  por- 
ter, half  waiter,  probably  the  same  one  whom  the 
landlord  had  summoned  from  his  early  morning 
slumbers  to  assist  in  receiving  the  untimely  guests. 
There  was  nothing  sleepy  about  him  now,  however. 
He  fairly  bristled  with  excitement.  Thinking  he 
might  have  some  news  for  us,  I  was  about  to  draw 
him  into  conversation,  but  the  doctor  took  the  af- 
fair out  of  my  hands. 

"  An  omelette  for  two,"  he  said,  "  and  coffee. 
Serve  it  here  as  quickly  as  you  can.  That's  all." 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  said  the  man  submissively, 
and  he  disappeared. 

"  I  had  an  idea,"  I  ventured,  "  that  he  might 
have  told  us  something  we  should  have  found  in- 
teresting." 

"  He  might  and  he  will,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  when  he  comes  back  with  the  breakfast.  He  will 
tell  us  all  the  more  if  he  has  no  idea  that  we  are  in 
the  least  interested  to  hear  his  tale." 

The  doctor  had  rightly  estimated  his  character. 
This  became  evident  a  few  minutes  later  when  the 
man  returned.  He  bustled  about,  setting  the  table 

234 


THE  AFFAIR  IN  THE   CLOAKROOM 

in  our  sitting  room — what  an  age  it  seemed  since 
Virginia  and  I  had  dined  in  that  same  room  the 
night  before  —  clattering  the  plates,  making  all 
sorts  of  little  motions  to  draw  our  attention,  and 
evidently  only  waiting  to  catch  the  eye  of  one  of  us 
to  burst  out  into  the  story  he  had  to  tell.  But 
neither  of  us  would  so  much  as  look  at  him.  At 
last  he  said,  in  a  feeble,  apologetic  sort  of  way: 

"  Of  course  messieurs  have  heard  the  news?  " 

"  I  dare  say  we  have,"  said  the  doctor  serenely. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  the  waiter;  "  I  think 
that  is  scarcely  possible.  It  only  happened  last 
night,  and  very  late." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  doctor,  "what  is  it?  Has 
the  housemaid  eloped  with  the  cook?  " 

"  No,  monsieur,"  said  the  waiter,  "  I  am  the 
housemaid  myself,  and  monsieur  the  proprietor,  he 
is  the  cook." 

"  Proceed  with  your  news,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
suppose  you  will  be  incapable  of  serving  breakfast 
until  you  have  rid  yourself  of  it." 

"  It  occurred  in  Tours,  messieurs,  a  most  aston- 
ishing outrage.  It  occurred  in  the  railway  station 
.very  late  at  night,  when  there  were  but  few  people, 
and  those  but  half  awake,  in  the  waiting  room.  But 
there  might  have  been  a  thousand,  for  these  men 
showed  the  cunning  and  resource  of  the  devil  him- 
self." 

235 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  Apaches  from  Paris,  I  suppose,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "What  did  they  do?" 

"  No  doubt  monsieur  is  right,"  assented  the 
waiter.  "  One  of  them  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
consigne,  which  at  that  hour  is  tended  by  an  old 
woman.  The  wicket  was  unlocked,  and  he  en- 
tered, fumbling  in  his  pockets  as  if  to  find  his  re- 
ceipt. A  companion  of  his  appeared  at  that  mo- 
ment in  the  doorway.  '  Come  in  here,'  said  the 
first  man.  *  I  shall  find  the  receipts  in  a  moment 
and  we  have  no  time  to  waste ;  it  will  take  this  old 
woman  an  hour.'  Whereupon  the  second  man, 
who  had  the  strength  of  three,  monsieur,  and  the 
cunning  and  quickness  of  the  devil — the  second 
man  entered  the  room.  At  that  same  moment  a 
third  man  appeared  in  the  doorway,  thus  prevent- 
ing the  persons  in  the  waiting  room  seeing  what  was 
going  on.  At  that,  the  second  man,  slipping 
around  behind  the  old  woman,  seized  her,  and  be- 
fore she  could  cry  out,  clapped  a  handkerchief  sat- 
urated in  chloroform  over  her  mouth  and  nose. 
When  she  became  unconscious,  they  selected  three 
or  four  of  the  bags  and  went  away.  No  one  knew 
anything  whatever  about  the  affair  until,  in  the 
course  of  time,  the  old  woman  recovered  conscious- 
ness. They  were  most  frightful  savages,  she  said ; 
men  of  indescribable  brutality.  It  is  thought  they 
went  away  in  an  automobile.  In  that  case  they  are 

236 


one  hundred  miles  away  at  least.  But  the  arm  of 
the  police  is  long,  monsieur,  and  the  telegraph  is 
swifter  than  their  automobile.  They  will  be  inter- 
cepted, depend  upon  it." 

"  Did  the  old  woman  make  any  resistance?  "  in- 
quired the  doctor. 

The  waiter  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What 
could  she  do  against  that  emissary  of  the  devil?  " 
he  said.  "  She  had  a  pair  of  scissors  in  her  hand, 
and  with  them  she  struck  repeatedly  at  the  hand 
which  was  clapped  over  her  mouth  and  nose,  but 
he  minded  that  no  more  than  pin  pricks." 

That  appeared  to  be  the  substance  of  the  wait- 
er's story,  for  though  he  continued  talking  about 
it  all  the  while  he  was  serving  our  breakfast,  he 
added  nothing  to  the  first  recital.  The  thing  most 
strongly  impressed  upon  his  mind  seemed  to  be  the 
opportunity  for  the  flight  offered  by  the  automo- 
bile. 

"  They  will  be  arrested,"  he  prophesied  confi- 
dently; "  but  mark  my  words,  it  will  be  at  Brest  or 
Bordeaux  or  the  Spanish  frontier.  They  had  a 
long  start;  but  the  arm  of  the  police  is  longer." 

It  was  a  relief  when  the  waiter  had  gone  and 
we  were  able  to  talk  over  the  extraordinary  tale 
which  had  interested  us  so  much  more  than  we  had 
dared  allow  him  to  see.  If  anything  more  than  the 
waiter's  account  had  been  needed  to  convince  us, 

237 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt,  that  Alexander 
Duggleby  was  responsible  for  the  outrage,  my  own 
adventure  with  him  that  morning  made  it  abso- 
lutely clear.  They  had  driven  out  of  town,  prob- 
ably in  the  general  direction  of  Paris,  stealing 
softly,  no  doubt,  past  the  sleeply  little  octroi  sta- 
tions of  the  towns  along  their  route.  Then,  hav- 
ing gone  perhaps  half  way  to  Paris,  they  had 
played  the  old  trick  of  doubling,  and  had  come 
back  openly  and  ostentatiously  to  Tours. 

"  He  was  less  than  an  hour  from  Tours  when  I 
passed  him  on  the  road  at  eight  o'clock  last  even- 
ing," said  the  doctor.  "  He  has  had  plenty  of 
time." 

"  And  then  there's  this,"  I  added,  "  that  makes 
it  conclusive.  The  man  who  did  the  talking  out 
there  in  the  road  to  the  landlord  of  this  inn  men- 
tioned that  one  of  his  party  had  had  an  accident. 
That  must  have  been  Duggleby,  for  you  will  re- 
member the  waiter  said  the  old  woman  had  at- 
tacked him  with  the  scissors.  She  probably  did 
more  damage  than  the  waiter  gave  her  credit  for. 
All  the  same,"  I  concluded,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  I  wish  I  might  have  been  peeping  out  through 
my  shutters  when  they  left  their  car  to  come  into 
the  inn.  I  am  absolutely  sure  it  was  Duggleby, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  would  be  satisfactory  to 
have  enjoyed  one  good  look  at  him." 

238 


THE   AFFAIR   IN  THE   CLOAKROOM 

"  He's  not  the  man  I  should  have  looked  at," 
said  the  doctor.  "  I  am  most  interested  in  the 
identity  of  the  others.  What  I  should  like  to  know 
is  whether  my  patient  of  yesterday  afternoon  is  one 
of  the  occupants  of  that  car." 

Before  I  could  answer  him,  I  heard  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  somehow  I  knew  who  it  was  who 
sought  admittance.  I  opened  the  door  myself  and 
stood  face  to  face  with  Virginia.  At  sight  of  me 
the  color  came  mantling  up  into  her  cheeks  and 
forehead,  and  her  eyes  brightened  and  dimmed  at 
once. 

"  Morton !  "  she  said,  "  I  did  not  know  you  had 
come  back  from  your  walk.  I  wish  you  had  come 
and  called  me,  and  taken  me  with  you." 

In  my  heart  I  thanked  God  that  I  had  not, 
although  the  sweet  intimacy  of  the  suggestion 
made  me  catch  my  breath  and  set  my  heart  to 
racing. 

"  It  is  such  a  heavenly  morning,"  she  went  on. 
'  Was  it  a  good  walk?  And  did  you  have  any 
adventures?  " 

I  was  reluctant  to  tell  her,  just  then  at  any  rate, 
so  I  laughed  as  easily  as  I  could,  and  asked  what 
adventures  a  man  was  likely  to  have  walking  down 
a  French  highway  in  the  light  of  an  early  morn- 
ing. 

She  looked  at  me  rather  searchingly,  then  slipped 
239 


her  hand  into  mine  and  interlocked  her  fingers 
with  it. 

"  You've  come  back  safely,  anyway,"  she  said. 

It  was  done  quite  frankly,  quite  simply;  just  as 
a  wife  might  do  it.  Her  love  and  her  conviction 
left  no  room  for  doubt.  I  was  hers  and  she  was 
mine,  mine  altogether.  And  yet  I  could  not  take 
the  gift  she  offered.  It  belonged  to  the  other  man, 
the  lost  man,  to  Morton  Smith,  if  that  was  his 
name,  a  man  to  whom  I  was  a  total  stranger. 

She  did  not  relinquish  my  hand  as  she  turned 
to  the  doctor. 

"  I  came  on  an  errand,"  she  said.  "  This  note  " 
— she  held  it  out  in  her  other  hand — "  came  to  my 
father  by  a  special  messenger  only  a  few  minutes 
ago.  He  is  overjoyed  in  getting  it,  but  I  persuaded 
him  to  let  me  show  it  to  you  " — her  glance,  when 
she  said  the  words,  included  me  with  the  doctor — 
"  to  let  me  show  it  to  you  before  he  should  act 
upon  the  invitation  it  contains." 

As  she  spoke  she  handed  a  large  square  envel- 
ope, already  torn  open,  to  the  doctor.  He  drew 
out  the  folded  sheet  of  note  paper  which  it  con- 
tained, and  read  it  aloud: 

"Mv  DEAR  MR.  HEATHERFIELD: 

"  By  a  very  strange,  and  to  me  fortunate,  chance,  I  have 
just  learned  that  you  and  your  daughter  are,  unless  this 
comes  too  late,  at  the  inn  in  Mettray,  where  I  address  this 

240 


THE   AFFAIR   IN  THE   CLOAKROOM 

note;  and  I  have  also  learned  that  you  called,  unsuccess- 
fully, upon  me  at  Chateau  la  Mesle  yesterday  afternoon. 
"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  if  you  and  Miss  Heather- 
field  will  take  lunch  with  me  at  the  chateau  at  one  to- 
day. I  came  down  quite  unexpectedly  yesterday  after- 
noon, upon  my  physician's  advice.  The  house,  which 
has  long  been  closed,  is  in  a  deplorable  state  of  confusion, 
but  if  you  can  pardon  the  exiguity  of  a  nomadic  bache- 
lor's hospitality,  you  will  give  me  a  great  deal  of  pleas- 
ure. You  were,  as  I  think  you  must  know,  one  of  my 
father's  most  valued  friends,  and  I  have  often  heard 
him  speak  of  you. 

"  Believe  me, 

"Yours  most  sincerely, 

"CHRISTOPHER  MORTON. 

"  P.S. — The  messenger  who  brings  this  will  take  your 
answer.  I  hope  very  eagerly  that  it  may  be  a  favorable 
one  for  me." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

AN   INTIMATE   STRANGER 

THE  doctor  looked  from  Virginia's  face  to 
mine  and  back  to  hers  again. 

"  The  messenger  is  still  waiting?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  This  wants  thinking  over,"  he  observed,  plow- 
ing his  fingers  through  his  thick  white  hair.  He 
moved  an  extra  chair  up  to  the  table  and  invited 
us  both  to  be  seated.  "  I  take  it,"  he  resumed, 
"  from  what  you  say  of  your  father's  feelings  that 
he  entertains  very  little  doubt  as  to  the  good  faith 
of  the  invitation,  and  the  genuineness  of  the  sig- 
nature attached  to  it." 

Her  face  betrayed  a  certain  amount  of  disap- 
pointment, but  no  surprise. 

"Then  it  doesn't  seem  genuine  to  you?"  she 
asked.  "  Do  you  think  it  is  nothing  more  than  a 
trick?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  It's  a  just  punishment  upon  me  for  the  preju- 
dices I  entertained  yesterday.  But  it  is  quite 

242 


clear,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  me,  "  that  we  must 
first  inform  Miss  Heatherfield  of  the  news  we  have 
just  had  thrust  upon  us  by  the  waiter;  and  must 
also  tell  her  of  the  experiences  which  befell  you  on 
the  road.  We  can't  come  to  a  decision  in  the  pres- 
ent matter  without  taking  both  those  episodes  into 
account." 

"  I'd  rather  you  told  it,"  said  I. 

With  admirable  brevity  he  told  her  how  the 
cloakroom  in  the  Tours  station  had  been  looted, 
and  followed  the  narrative  with  an  account  of  my 
own  matutinal  adventure. 

"  And  now  for  the  note,"  he  concluded. 

"  One  thing  is  quite  clear,"  said  I.  "  There  is  a 
certain  amount  of  ground  for  suspicion.  In  the 
first  place,  how  does  Christopher  Morton  know 
that  you  and  your  father  are  here  at  Mettray? 
And  if  he  came  by  that  information  accidentally, 
why  doesn't  he  explain  in  his  note  how  he  came 
by  it?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that,  to 
me,  is  one  of  the  strongest  indications  of  his  good 
faith.  Any  rogue  could  pump  up  an  explanation 
that  would  sound  plausible.  Your  wall-eyed  lodge 
keeper  and  his  mother  may,  very  easily,  have  rec- 
ognized the  cabman  who  drove  you  out  here,  and 
a  single  question  from  a  person  of  Mr.  Morton's 
consequence — the  real  Mr.  Morton — would  have 

243 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

got  him  the  whole  story.  But  a  man  who  had  no 
idea  that  his  good  faith  would  be  questioned  would 
not  have  been  likely  to  put  a  long  cumbersome  ex- 
planation into  a  note.  He'd  save  that  until  you 
met." 

I  interrupted:  "Unless,  of  course,  he  was  a 
clever  enough  rogue  to  rely  upon  our  making  that 
rery  interpretation." 

"  Yes,  that's  possible,"  admitted  the  doctor. 

"  And  then  add  this,"  I  continued.  "  Note  the 
connection  between  his  moves  and  Duggleby's. 
Duggleby  comes  to  Paris.  On  that  same  day  Mor- 
ton comes  to  your  office  to  consult  you.  Morton's 
lodge  keeper  sends  a  telegram  to  Duggleby's 
agent,  with  the  result  that  Duggleby  comes  to 
Tours.  On  that  very  same  day  Morton  comes  to 
Tours  also.  Duggleby  conies  to  this  inn  at  dawn 
this  morning,  and  at  nine  o'clock  comes  this  note 
from  Morton." 

"  He's  telling  the  truth,  though,  when  he  says 
that  M.  de  Villiers  advised  him  to  come  down 
here."  This  was  Virginia's  first  contribution  to 
the  talk.  "  That  certainly  wasn't  Mr.  Duggleby's 
doing." 

The  discussion  ran  on  for  half  an  hour.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  we  were  no  nearer  a  decision  than 
we  had  been  at  the  beginning.  It  was,  the  doctor 
pointed  out,  perfectly  possible,  hardly  even  im- 

244 


AN    INTIMATE    STRANGER 

probable,  that  the  parallel  between  Duggleby's 
movements  and  Mr.  Morton's  was  purely  the  re- 
sult of  accident.  The  fact  that  the  doctor's  patient 
had  taken  his  advice  and  come  straight  to  the  cha- 
teau, which  we  knew  belonged  to  Mr.  Christopher 
Morton;  that  he  wrote  a  note  on  the  house  sta- 
tionery, inviting  guests  there  to  lunch  with  him,  all 
established  a  strong  presumption  in  his  favor.  No 
mere  hired  spy  in  Duggleby's  service  would  have 
ventured  to  do  that. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  Morton's  own  lodge 
keeper  who  had  betrayed  us.  And  he  could  not 
have  learned  of  our  presence  at  the  inn  any  more 
easily  or  promptly  than  through  Duggleby  him- 
self. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  the  doctor  at  last.  "  Which- 
ever way  your  father  acts,  whether  he  accepts  the 
invitation  or  declines  it,  he  will  leave  us  with  a 
strong  misgiving  that  he  may  have  done  the  wrong 
thing.  And  the  whole  question  comes  down  to 
this :  On  which  side  will  it  be  wise  for  him  to  run 
the  risk  of  error?  How  much  does  he  stand  to 
lose,  in  either  case,  if  he  goes  wrong,  or  to  win,  in 
either  case,  if  he  goes  right?" 

'  There  certainly  can't  be  much  doubt  of  that," 
said  I.  u  If  the  letter  is  written  in  bad  faith,  it 
is  written,  in  all  probability,  at  the  dictation  of 
Alexander  Duggleby.  You  certainly  would  not 

245 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

advise  Miss  Heatherfield  and  her  father  to  risk 
their  lives  in  that  man's  clutches." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  is  that  the  risk  which  will  be  in- 
volved ?  I  am  inclined  to  think  not.  Come,  let  us 
be  methodical  about  it.  Let  us  suppose  two  cases. 
In  the  first  place,  suppose  this  note  to  be  written 
in  perfectly  good  faith.  Mr.  Morton  has  heard 
that  Mr.  Heatherfield  and  his  daughter  are  here. 
He  is  anxious  to  see  his  father's  old  friend.  If 
Mr.  Heatherfield  accepts  the  invitation,  his  trou- 
bles are  almost  certainly  at  an  end.  This  young 
man  has  the  power,  and  evidently  the  inclination, 
to  do  him  justice ;  to  destroy  absolutely  the  whole 
ingenious  plot  which  the  Dugglebys  have  con- 
structed to  defraud  him.  Now,  still  supposing  the 
invitation  to  be  written  in  good  faith,  what  if  Mr. 
Heatherfield  declines  it?  He  throws  away  an  op- 
portunity which  it  is  highly  unlikely  will  ever 
come  again. 

"  But  suppose  the  other  case :  This  man,  who 
signs  himself  Christopher  Morton,  is  a  mere  tool 
of  young  Alexander  Duggleby ;  the  letter  is  written 
to  entice  your  father  to  the  chateau.  Duggleby 
has  already  made  one  attempt  to  get  possession  of 
that  secret  formula.  He  made  it  last  night  when 
he  looted  the  Tours  station.  As  a  result  of  that 
escapade  he  knows  that  that  formula  is,  in  all 

246 


AN    INTIMATE    STRANGER 

probability,  concealed  upon  Mr.  Heatherfield's 
person.  The  easiest  way  to  get  it  would  be  to  lure 
him  to  the  chateau  and  take  it  away  from  him. 
If  Mr.  Heatherfield  declines  the  invitation,  he 
escapes  that  trap  and  tells  the  enemy  that  he  sus- 
pects him.  He  shows  his  cards  to  the  enemy  with- 
out getting  a  compensating  glimpse  of  his.  He  is 
ignorant  as  to  whether  he  has  disappointed  a 
friend  or  foiled  an  enemy,  and  waits  for  that  ene- 
my's next  move." 

"  At  least,"  I  interrupted,  "  at  least  he  avoids 
walking  straight  into  the  clutches  of  a  thoroughly 
remorseless  villain ;  for  a  man  who  has  already  at- 
tempted one  assassination  to-day  will  hardly  hesi- 
tate to  attempt  another." 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  pray  distinguish.  Mr.  Duggleby  wishes  to  mur- 
der you.  Whoever  you  may  be,  whatever  your 
connection  with  his  life  may  be,  he  seems  to  find 
it  impossible  to  remain  in  the  same  world  with  you. 
I  should  never  allow  you  to  go  into  that  chateau 
with  a  less  efficient  protection  than  that  of  a  squad 
of  police.  But  Mr.  Heatherfield's  is  an  entirely 
different  case.  All  that  Duggleby  wants  from  him 
is  his  formula.  He  would  infinitely  prefer  taking 
it  by  fraud  to  taking  it  by  force.  He  is  no  fool. 
He  knows  perfectly  well  that  one  murder  is  about 
all  a  man  can  hope,  successfully,  to  bring  off.  I 
17  247 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

will  admit,  on  the  supposition  that  this  letter  is  a 
trap,  that  Mr.  Heatherfield  runs  a  chance  of  losing 
his  formula,  provided  he  carries  it  with  him  to  the 
chateau ;  but  that  he  runs  any  personal  risk  or  that 
Miss  Heatherfield  would  run  any  by  accompanying 
him,  I  cannot  admit  to  be  possible." 

"  Then,"  said  Virginia,  "  you  think  that  father 
might  go  if  he  left  his  formula  behind  him,  here 
in  the  inn?  " 

"Not  here,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  would  advo- 
cate no  such  risk  as  that.  But  if  before  venturing 
into  the  park  at  la  Mesle  he  has  first  consigned  his 
formula  to  the  security  of  the  vaults  of  the  Credit 
Lyonnais  at  Tours,  he  would  be  safeguarded  in 
case  this  invitation  is  a  trap,  and  would  be  still  in 
a  position  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  it 
offers,  provided  it  turns  out  to  be  genuine." 

Virginia's  delight  in  this  plan  was  manifest.  I 
could  see  she  was  inclined  to  share  her  father's  be- 
lief in  the  genuineness  of  the  note,  and  his  delight 
at  the  prospect  of  a  successful  termination  to  his 
mission. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  think  we  can  go,"  she  said. 

Suddenly  the  doctor  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  I  have 
it !  "  he  cried.  "  The  true  plan — the  only  true 
plan.  Your  father  shall  not  go  to  la  Mesle  with- 
out a  formula.  He  shall  construct  it  now  before 
he  starts,  a  beautiful,  interesting  looking  series  of 

248 


AN    INTIMATE    STRANGER 

chemical  reactions,  which  shall  suffice  to  keep  our 
friend  Duggleby's  mind  occupied  for  a  long  time, 
supposing  his  hand  is  really  in  the  business.  The 
real  formula  will  be  safe  in  the  bank.  The  amus- 
ing bit  of  chemical  fiction  will  be  in  a  packet  upon 
your  father's  person  where,  until  now,  he  has  kept 
the  real  one,  and  the  real  one  will  be  safe  in  the 
bank  all  the  while. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  he  demanded,  turning  upon 
me  for  corroboration,  "  don't  you  see  how  we  shall 
unmask  their  batteries?  We  do  not  expose  our 
own  head  above  the  intrenchments.  We  elevate 
an  empty  hat  upon  a  stick." 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  feel  any  enthusiasm 
in  his  scheme,  and  I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at 
Virginia's.  "  Don't  you  think,"  I  ventured,  "  that 
even  the  doctor's  scheme  of  drawing  the  enemy's 
fire  may  prove  rather  dangerous  to  your  father? 
Do  you  think  he  will  be  equal  to  the  excitement 
and  danger  of  going  to  that  chateau  on  purpose  to 
be  robbed,  even  of  an  imitation  formula  ?  " 

Virginia  shot  at  me  a  quick  look  of  surprise. 
"  But  surely,"  she  said,  "  you  know  father  well 
enough — "  And  then  she  flushed  to  the  forehead 
and  bit  her  lips.  "  I  am  sorry,"  she  resumed.  "  It 
is  hard  to — to  remember.  My  father  is  not  the 
weak  old  man  that  he  must  seem  to  you  after  what 
happened  yesterday.  That  momentary  weakness 

249 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

was  altogether  exceptional  with  him.  He  has  quite 
recovered  this  morning;  he  is  his  old  self  again. 
His  only  weakness — his  only  need  of  special  care 
is,  ordinarily,  the  mere  result  of  his  preoccupation. 
When  anything  commands  his  full  attention  the 
way  this  note  does,  one  can  count  on  his  being  cour- 
ageous, prompt,  and  quick-witted.  Except  for  ac- 
tual force,  I  have  no  fear  on  his  account.  That 
fear  M.  de  Villiers  has  done  away  with." 

The  doctor  nodded  approvingly,  and  after  a 
further  word  or  two,  Virginia  left  the  room 
to  communicate  to  her  father  the  result  of  our 
conference. 

I  had  consented  to  the  plan  rather  reluctantly, 
and  now  I  added  something  to  it.  "  There  is  this 
thing  we  can  do,  at  any  rate,"  said  I.  ;'  We  can 
act  as  a  bodyguard  to — to  Miss  Heatherfield  and 
her  father  until  the  true  formula  is  safely  depos- 
ited in  the  bank.  Whether  Duggleby  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  sending  this  note  or  not — I  still 
believe  he  has — it  would  be  fatuous  folly  to  allow 
an  old  man  to  go  about  unprotected  with  such  a 
piece  of  wealth  upon  his  person  while  my  would-be 
assassin  was  at  large  in  the  neighborhood." 

The  doctor  assented  heartily  to  this  suggestion 
of  mine,  and,  thus  amended,  we  put  the  plan  into 
execution.  A  little  before  noon,  in  the  doctor's 
car,  we  set  out,  all  together,  from  Mettray  for 

250 


Tours,  taking  a  circuitous  route  in  order  to  avoid 
passing  la  Mesle  on  the  way. 

I  met  Virginia's  father  for  the  first  time  that 
day  just  before  we  started.  He  was,  indeed, 
greatly  changed  from  the  day  before.  He  seemed 
strong  and  vigorous,  and  in  excellent  spirits.  I  had 
wondered,  rather  uncomfortably,  what  his  attitude 
toward  myself  would  be.  His  manner  instantly 
reassured  me.  Virginia,  as  the  doctor  had  sug- 
gested, had  evidently  told  him  the  whole  of  my 
story  so  far  as  any  of  us  knew  it.  He  was  very 
grave,  and  rather  distant  and  ceremonious,  but  this 
I  took  as  springing  rather  from  a  fear  of  embar- 
rassing me  by  a  display  of  too  lively  a  curiosity  on 
his  part,  than  from  any  lingering  hostility  or  dis- 
trust. 

The  doctor's  car  devoured  the  miles  between  us 
and  Tours  in  a  very  few  minutes,  and,  at  the  end 
of  a  perfectly  uneventful  ride,  we  pulled  up  before 
the  door  of  the  Tours  branch  of  the  great  bank 
which  the  doctor  had  suggested  was  the  only  safe 
depository  for  Mr.  Heatherfield's  formula.  We 
accompanied  him  into  the  bank,  and  did  not  leave 
him  till  the  precious  envelope  which  contained  it 
had  been  put  into  a  steel  box  and  consigned  to  the 
vault.  Mr.  Heatherfield's  interest  in  the  imitation 
formula,  which  now  occupied  its  place  in  the  oiled- 
silk  bag  which  hung  from  around  his  neck,  seemed 

251 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

rather  amused  than  serious.  He  regarded  it,  quite 
frankly,  as  a  concession  to  the  French  doctor's  love 
for  romance,  although  he  admitted,  rather  reluc- 
tantly, that  it  might  turn  out  to  have  been  a  very 
wise  precaution. 

We  saw  them  off,  in  the  best  of  spirits,  from  the 
bank  steps,  watching  them  until  the  fiacre  in  which 
they  were  driving  down  the  rue  Nationale  had 
disappeared.  Then,  left  to  our  own  resources,  the 
doctor  and  I  rather  lazily  set  about  our  own  af- 
fairs for  the  day. 

We  made  a  few  purchases  along  the  main  street 
of  the  town,  chiefly  to  supply  the  losses  I  had  suf- 
fered in  the  theft  of  my  hand  bag.  And  then,  as 
we  were  passing  a  barber  shop,  the  doctor  suddenly 
halted  me. 

"For  the  sake  of  an  experiment,"  he  asked, 
"  should  you  be  willing  to  sacrifice  that  rather  be- 
coming beard  of  yours?  Mr.  Christopher  Morton 
is  clean  shaven.  It  might  do  no  harm  to  pay  him 
the  compliment  of  imitating  him." 

"  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  sacrifice  my  beard," 
said  I,  "  even  in  a  less  worthy  cause.  But  are  you 
still  playing  with  that  idea?  I  thought  you  had 
given  it  up  utterly." 

"  Never  mind  the  idea,"  said  the  doctor.  "  If 
you  are  willing  to  make  the  sacrifice,  that's  all  I 
ask.  It's  curious  we  haven't  thought  of  cutting  it 

252 


AN    INTIMATE    STRANGER 

off  before.  I  remember  in  your  notes  on  the  first 
days  of  your  adventures — the  notes  you  so  kindly 
permitted  me  to  read  that  morning  in  the  Holland 
House — you  remarked  that  you  had  experienced  a 
sort  of  vague  surprise  on  finding  that  your  face  was 
bearded.  You  may  look  more  natural  to  yourself 
without  it." 

We  carried  out  his  suggestion  at  once.  But  so 
far  as  immediate  results  were  concerned,  it  pro- 
duced nothing  but  a  disappointment.  When  the 
barber  was  through  with  me,  I  took  the  hand  glass 
he  put  into  my  hand,  with  a  thrill  of  expectancy. 
But  the  face  I  saw  there  brought  nothing  back  to 
me.  It  did  not  look  strikingly  unfamiliar,  which 
promised  us  something,  since  I  had  never,  since  the 
recovery  of  my  memory,  seen  myself  without  a 
beard. 

I  met  the  doctor's  eye  as  I  laid  the  glass  down, 
and  shook  my  head.  That  was  all  the  answer  he 
needed,  though  his  face  clouded  for  a  moment  with 
disappointment.  But  that  expression  soon  disap- 
peared, and  the  calm,  alert,  kindly  look  I  knew  so 
well  replaced  it.  When  we  turned  into  the  street 
again  his  one  idea  seemed  to  be  to  make  me  forget 
that  we  had  tried  any  experiment  at  all. 

We  wandered,  rather  aimlessly,  up  the  rue  Na- 
tionale  toward  the  hotel.  "  First  impressions  are 
the  only  things  I  can  ever  hope  anything  from," 

253 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

said  I.  '  Yesterday  when  I  drove  down  this  street, 
on  the  way  to  la  Mesle,  everything  I  saw — the 
buildings,  shop  signs,  the  tram  cars,  the  very  loaf- 
ers, and  the  stray  dogs — seemed  to  awaken  what 
were  almost  memories — seemed  only  to  lack,  by  a 
mere  hairbreadth,  the  power  to  bring  my  whole 
past  back  to  me.  To-day  I  am  walking  here  com- 
pletely unmoved.  I  might  be  in  Pittsburg  so  far 
as  memories  and  associations  are  concerned." 

He  seemed  about  to  make  me  an  answer,  then 
suddenly  checked  himself.  Turning  to  see  what  it 
was  that  attracted  his  attention,  I  noticed  a  man 
hurrying  across  the  street,  with  the  evident  inten- 
tion of  accosting  us.  He  was  a  large,  rather  digni- 
fied man,  inclined  to  be  corpulent,  clad  in  the  sort 
of  clerical  black  coat  which  distinguishes  the  Prot- 
estant clergy  in  France.  Dignified  as  he  was,  and 
a  clergyman  into  the  bargain,  he  was  almost  run- 
ning across  the  street  in  his  eagerness  to  address 
me.  And  he  had  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

His  face  was  absolutely  unfamiliar  to  me,  but 
it  was  simply  beaming  with  delight  at  the  sight  of 
mine.  "  My  dear  boy!  "  he  cried,  clapping  on  his 
hat  in  order  to  grasp  me  with  both  arms.  Then  he 
went  on  speaking  in  English,  but  with  a  decided 
French  accent:  "  My  dear  Christopher!  I  cannot 
express  how  good  it  is  to  see  you,  after  all  these 
years.  I  had  about  given  up  hope  of  you." 

254 


AN   INTIMATE    STRANGER 

He  stood  off  a  little,  to  take  a  good  look  at  me, 
and  then  embraced  me,  French  fashion,  on  both 
cheeks.  "  My  dear  boy!  "  he  repeated,  this  time 
in  French.  Then  he  seemed  to  realize,  for  the  first 
time,  that  I  was  not  alone.  He  turned  to  the  doc- 
tor, with  a  little  bow  of  apology :  "  You  must  for- 
give the  intrusion,  monsieur.  It's  a  long  time  since 
Mr.  Morton  went  away  from  us,  and  I  have  never 
seen  him  since  the  day  he  left  Tours." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

DEJEUNER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

FROM  the  moment  when  the  pastor  of  the 
Protestant  church  at  Tours  greeted  me  there 
in  the  street  as  Christopher  Morton,  my  own 
story  runs  on  with  hardly  a  momentary  interrup- 
tion. At  the  same  time,  another  set  of  events, 
equally  important  to  all  of  us  concerned,  was  hap- 
pening out  at  la  Mesle.  Of  course  the  doctor  and 
I  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Heatherfield's  and  Vir- 
ginia's adventures  until  considerably  later  in  the 
day.  But  this  is,  perhaps,  the  most  convenient 
point  in  the  narrative  for  relating  them.  It  shall 
be  done  as  briefly  as  possible. 

The  drive  out  to  the  chateau  was  accomplished 
without  incident.  Virginia  herself  felt  a  little  un- 
easy when  she  saw  the  great  carriage  gate  being 
opened  by  no  less  a  person  than  the  wall-eyed 
lodge  keeper,  the  man  she  and  her  father  had  met 
hurrying  down  the  road  toward  the  telegraph 
office  when  they  had  driven  out  the  day  before. 
Mr.  Heatherfield,  however,  refused  to  be  alarmed 
by  the  circumstance. 

256 


DEJEUNER   AT   THE    CHATEAU 

At  the  chateau  itself  they  found  the  great  doors 
of  ceremony  thrown  wide  open  in  anticipation  of 
their  coming,  and  the  man  who  called  himself 
Christopher  Morton  waiting  in  the  doorway  to 
welcome  them. 

Luncheon  was  announced  almost  immediately 
upon  their  arrival  and  was  served  in  a  pleasant 
little  morning  room,  whose  French  windows  gave 
upon  a  shady  terrace.  Before  the  meal  had  pro- 
ceeded very  far,  Virginia  was  quite  ready  to  in- 
dorse her  father's  belief  in  the  genuineness  and 
good  faith  of  their  host.  He  was  a  man,  indeed, 
whom  it  would  have  been  hard  to  disbelieve.  His 
manners  were  affable,  unaffected,  charming.  He 
was  precisely  what  a  man  of  Christopher  Morton's 
wealth,  position,  and  long  knowledge  of  the  world 
could  be  expected  to  be — unassuming,  and  yet,  in  a 
subtle  way,  authoritative. 

As  the  doctor  had  prophesied,  he  explained  al- 
most at  once  how  he  had  learned  of  their  presence 
in  Mettray.  "  The  old  woman  who  lives  in  my 
lodge  down  at  the  gate  told  me  of  your  call  as 
soon  as  I  had  arrived  last  night.  She  is  an  ex- 
cellent old  creature  and  very  faithful,  though  she 
is  cursed,  I  fear,  with  a  thoroughly  worthless  son. 
Well,  as  I  had  already  dined,  I  turned  about,  then 
and  there,  and  drove  back  to  Tours  to  look  you 
up,  having  no  doubt  at  all  that  I  should  find  you 

257 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

at  the  Hotel  de  1'Univers.  When  I  discovered 
that  you  weren't  there,  I  came  out,  a  little  at  a 
loss,  and  stood  still  beside  the  curb  for  a  moment, 
meditating  where  I  should  try  next.  While  I 
stood  there,  I  heard  a  conversation  between  two 
cabmen,  one  of  whom  was  expatiating  upon  his 
luck  and  showing  a  couple  of  gold  pieces  to  the 
other.  He  said  he  had  got  them  for  driving  a 
party  to  la  Mesle  and  then  to  Mettray.  At  that 
I,  of  course,  pricked  up  my  ears.  A  question  or 
two,  accompanied  by  as  many  francs,  gave  me  the 
rest  of  the  story  complete,  and  satisfied  me  that 
I  had  really  found  you." 

The  explanation  satisfied  Mr.  Heatherfield 
thoroughly,  and  almost  carried  conviction  to  Vir- 
ginia herself.  The  only  thing  she  did  not  like 
about  it  was  the  somewhat  gratuitous  reference  to 
the  worthlessness  of  the  wall-eyed  lodge  keeper. 
The  last  of  her  misgivings,  however,  disappeared 
when  their  host  brought  the  conversation  around 
to  the  man  he  called  his  father. 

The  late  Christopher  Morton,  who  had  been, 
as  their  note  of  invitation  stated,  one  of  Mr. 
Heatherfield's  most  valued  friends,  was,  in  his  life- 
time, a  most  interesting  and  peculiar  character. 
Their  host  began  talking  about  him  now  with  an 
intimacy  of  understanding  which  could  hardly 
have  been  possible  to  anyone  but  a  son.  He  told 

258 


DEJEUNER    AT   THE    CHATEAU 

stories  about  him;  spoke  of  his  early  struggles; 
of  the  qualities  that  had  brought  him  his  enor- 
mous success.  He  recalled  periods  of  his  life 
which  Mr.  Heatherfield  himself  could  remember, 
and  mentioned  even  some  incidents  in  which  Mr. 
Heatherfield  had  been  concerned.  He  seemed  to 
like  to  dwell  upon  the  subject,  and  even  when  it 
changed,  reintroduced  it. 

In  the  light  of  all  he  said,  any  idea  that  he  was 
an  impostor — that  he  was  a  mere  tool  of  Alexan- 
der Duggleby — that  he  sat  here  in  this  chateau  in 
a  place  to  which  he  had  no  right — any  such  ideas 
as  those  must  seem  not  only  improbable  but  ab- 
solutely grotesque. 

By  the  time  when  the  arrival  of  the  coffee 
marked  the  conclusion  of  the  meal,  Virginia  was 
assured  that  they  had  found  the  man  they  sought; 
as  sure  that  their  mission  to  him  was  to  have  a 
successful  termination,  as  her  father  was.  She 
told  me  afterwards  that  she  blushed  every  time  she 
thought  of  our  elaborate  precautions  for  safe- 
guarding the  true  formula,  and  of  the  presence  of 
the  imitation  one  in  the  oiled-silk  bag  which  was 
hanging  from  about  her  father's  neck. 

Up  to  this  moment  nothing  whatever  had  been 
said  about  the  formula,  nor  of  the  attempt  the  Dug- 
glebys  had  made  to  steal  it.  But  when  she  had  fin- 
ished her  coffee,  her  father  turned  to  her: 

259 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  there  is  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness which  I  want  to  talk  over  with  Mr.  Morton. 
It  needn't  take  very  long,  I  think.  You  will  prob- 
ably find  that  big  white  peacock  out  there  on  the 
lawn  entertaining  enough  to  keep  you  until  we 
join  you  there." 

Once  more,  for  just  a  moment,  she  experienced 
a  feeling  of  misgiving,  but  she  conquered  it  at 
once.  She  knew  her  father  well  enough  to  feel  sure 
that  her  presence  in  the  room  would  embarrass 
him  and  make  it  difficult  for  him  to  tell  Morton 
the  story  of  his  wrongs.  Perhaps  the  thing  that 
made  it  easiest  for  her  to  go  was  the  apparent 
fact  that  Morton  seemed  not  in  the  least  anxious 
that  she  should.  He  went  to  the  length  of  making 
a  tentative  suggestion  that  she  might  remain. 
That  satisfied  her  completely. 

She  allowed  him  to  conduct  her  out  through  one 
of  the  French  windows  and  across  the  terrace  to 
the  lawn.  He  was  very  gallant,  and  earnestly 
promised  that  they  would  join  her  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible. 

It  was  about  two  hours  later  that  they  did 
come  out  after  her.  She  saw  at  once,  by  her 
father's  face,  that  something  had  gone  wrong,  but 
did  not  know  what  it  was  till  they  were  in  their 
carriage  driving  back  to  Tours  again,  where  they 
had  arranged  to  meet  us  at  the  hotel. 

260 


DfejEUNER   AT   THE    CHATEAU 

What  had  happened  was  this:  Mr.  Heather- 
field,  as  soon  as  the  man  called  Morton  had  re- 
turned to  the  room,  after  escorting  Virginia  out 
of  it,  began  to  tell  him  the  story  of  his  discovery 
and  of  his  subsequent  dealings  with  the  Duggle- 
bys.  The  recital  took  a  good  while  and  Morton 
listened  throughout  with  every  appearance  of  in- 
terest. Before  Mr.  Heatherfield  could  finish  his 
account,  however,  he  was  surprised,  and  rather 
annoyed,  to  find  himself  becoming  sleepy.  He  had 
long  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  nap  after  lunch, 
and  did  not  at  first  think  of  attributing  this  feel- 
ing to  foul  play  on  the  part  of  his  host. 

Morton,  with  what,  but  for  the  sequel,  would 
have  passed  for  the  most  delicate  tact,  when  he 
saw  signs  of  Mr.  Heatherfield's  sleepiness,  took 
the  burden  of  the  conversation  upon  himself,  and 
began  to  speak  of  his  own  ignorance  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  his  slight  acquaintance  either  with  the 
elder  Duggleby  or  his  son. 

His  low,  smooth  monotone  as  he  talked  along 
was  the  last  thing  Mr.  Heatherfield  could  re- 
member, until  he  became  aware  of  a  twitch  at  his 
coat.  He  had  then,  apparently,  been  heavily 
asleep,  but  not,  he  thought,  for  a  very  long  time. 
Even  now,  he  was  only  half  awake,  and  in  a  very 
curious  way  at  that.  His  mind  resumed  its  normal 
waking  activities  and  his  ears  were  alert  for  every 

261 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

sound  that  took  place  in  the  room.  But  a  feeling 
as  of  a  heavy  weight  upon  his  eyelids  prevented 
his  opening  them,  and  an  intense  lassitude  all  over 
his  body  kept  him  lying  back  in  his  chair  in  the 
attitude  of  a  man  still  profoundly  asleep,  without 
cither  the  power  or  the  inclination  to  stir  himself. 

When  the  doctor  heard  the  story  afterwards, 
he  stated  that,  in  all  probability,  the  drug  which 
had  been  administered  which  caused  Mr.  Heather- 
field  to  go  to  sleep  was  chloral.  The  motor  tract 
of  the  spinal  cord  is  much  more  sensitive  to  this 
particular  drug  than  is  the  sensatory  tract.  That 
was  the  drug  they  would  most  naturally  have  used, 
anyway,  as  its  ordinary  effect  is  most  nearly  that 
of  natural  slumber;  which  was  what  the  conspira- 
tors wanted.  It  was  to  their  own  interest,  if  pos- 
sible, to  get  Mr.  Heatherfield  away  without  his 
suspecting  that  anything  had  gone  wrong. 

After  the  twitch  at  his  coat  had  roused  him, 
Mr.  Heatherfield  next  became  aware  of  a  current 
of  cool  air  upon  his  chest.  Evidently  his  coat,  his 
collar,  and  his  shirt  had  been  unbuttoned.  He 
might  have  supposed  he  had  fainted  and  that  the 
disorder  in  his  dress  was  the  result  of  an  attempt 
to  revive  him,  but  at  the  same  moment  he  heard 
a  voice  speaking  softly,  from  some  little  distance 
away. 

"Well,"  it  asked,  "have  you  got  it?"  He 
262 


DEJEUNER   AT   THE    CHATEAU 

recognized  the  voice  instantly  as  belonging  to 
young  Alexander  Duggleby. 

By  that  time  Mr.  Heatherfield  was  able  to  open 
his  eyes  a  little,  not  fully,  but  enough  to  make  out 
a  form  bending  over  him,  and  to  recognize  that 
form  as  belonging  to  the  man  who  called  himself 
Morton.  Apparently  the  other  voice  had  come  as 
a  surprise  to  him,  for  he  started  at  the  sound  of 
it,  But  he  straightened  up,  and  replied  in  a 
whisper : 

"  Yes,  I  have  it.    Here  it  is." 

Duggleby  came  nearer,  reached  across  Mr. 
Heatherfield's  recumbent  body  and  took  in  his 
hand  the  sealed  envelope  which  Morton  was  hold- 
ing out  to  him.  Then,  in  spite  of  Morton's  quick 
gesture  of  protest,  he  tore  it  open  and  drew  out 
its  contents. 

'  You  will  waken  him,"  said  Morton  uneasily. 

"  Not  after  he's  had  two  cups  of  that  coffee," 
Duggleby  replied,  coolly  enough,  unfolding  the 
papers  as  he  spoke.  "  Even  if  he  does  wake  up, 
he'll  know  enough  to  lie  still  and  pretend  that  he 
isn't." 

Morton,  however,  showed  himself  to  be  ex- 
tremely uneasy,  edged  away  a  little  from  Mr. 
Heatherfield,  and  kept  casting  quick  little  glances 
out  of  the  French  window. 

Suddenly,  to  Mr.  Heatherfield's  intense  sur- 
18  263 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

prise,  and  equally  to  his  alarm,  Duggleby  strode 
swiftly  across  to  his  accomplice  and  thrust  the 
papers  in  his  face.  "  Give  me  the  real  formula," 
he  demanded  in  a  voice  which,  though  not  loud, 
was  concentrated  with  passion. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Morton. 
"  For  Heaven's  sake !  don't  make  a  noise.  That's 
the  real  formula;  at  least  it's  what  I  took  from 
Heatherfield." 

"  You  liar !  "  Duggleby  whispered.  And  with 
that  he  caught  him  around  the  throat  with  both 
.hands  and  shook  him  as  a  dog  shakes  a  rat.  The 
man  turned  perfectly  limp  and  fell,  groveling,  at 
his  feet;  crawled  away  a  little,  and  finally  sat  up, 
feeling  of  his  throat. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  protested. 

"  Yes,  you  do,"  said  Duggleby.  "  It  was  a 
rather  bright  idea  of  yours,  if  you  had  only  had 
sense  enough  to  execute  it  decently.  You  thought 
if  you  had  the  foresight  to  prepare  a  formula  of 
your  own  to  amuse  me  with,  you  could  keep  the 
real  formula  for  yourself  and  dictate  terms  to  me 
when  you  got  away  to  a  safe  distance.  I  should 
really  begin  to  respect  you  if  you  had  had  sense 
enough  to  execute  it  decently.  The  next  time  you 
try  to  play  a  trick  like  that,  don't  offer  a  chemist  a 
formula  that  wouldn't  deceive  a  schoolboy." 

His  rage  seemed  to  be  rapidly  passing.  "  Come, 
264 


DEJEUNER   AT   THE    CHATEAU 

get  up,"  he  said.  "  Give  me  the  real  papers.  It 
was  a  clever  idea — clever  enough  to  forgive." 

Mr.  Heatherfield  had  witnessed  this  scene  in 
constantly  growing  alarm.  He  was  amazed  at 
Duggleby's  shrewdness  in  detecting  the  fraudulent 
nature  of  the  formulae,  for  he  had  prepared  them 
with  great  care,  and  had  felt  perfectly  confident 
that  they  would  deceive  even  an  expert.  He  could 
not  foresee  exactly  what  would  happen  to  him 
when  Duggleby  should  become  convinced  that 
Morton  was  telling  the  truth,  but  he  was,  plainly 
enough,  in  serious  danger.  The  next  moment  his 
astonishment  increased  tenfold,  and  his  alarm 
ceased  at  the  same  time. 

For  Morton  confessed. 

He  rose  clumsily  to  his  feet,  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  and  drew  out  an  envelope,  which  Mr. 
Heatherfield  was  now  able  to  recognize  as  the  one 
he  himself  had  brought  to  the  chateau  in  the  oiled- 
silk  bag. 

;'  When  a  man's  in  as  deep  a  hole  as  you've  got 
me  in,"  he  murmured  resentfully,  "  you  can't  much 
wonder  that  he  tries  to  wriggle  out." 

"  Well,  don't  wriggle  any  more,"  said  Dug- 
gleby rather  grimly.  "  Here,  let's  see  that  you're 
not  lying  to  me  this  time." 

He  took  Mr.  Heatherfield's  envelope  from 
Morton's  hand,  opened  it  and  cast  a  single  glance 

265 


.THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

at  its  contents,  and  then  quickly  placed  it  in  his 
pocket. 

"  That's  more  like,"  he  said.  "  Now  take 
the  others — your  silly  sulphuric  acid  and  common 
salt — and  put  them  in  Heatherfield's  bag.  There 
is  no  use  in  confessing  that  we  are  the  people  who 
robbed  him,  though  he'll  probably  suspect  it." 

He  left  the  room  then,  apparently,  for  Morton, 
unassisted,  carried  out  his  instructions,  putting  the 
old  gentleman's  clothing  to  rights  as  best  he  could, 
with  hands  that  were  clumsy  with  eagerness  and 
haste.  Then  he  went  away  to  the  French  window 
to  wait  till  the  effect  of  the  drug  should  have  passed 
off. 

When  Mr.  Heatherfield  roused,  he  did  his  best 
to  apologize  for  his  nap  and  to  affect  total  igno- 
rance of  all  that  had  passed  in  the  meantime.  But 
he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  away,  and  Morton  was 
not  eager  to  detain  him.  A  few  minutes  later  they 
joined  Virginia  on  the  lawn. 

On  the  way  home  she  heard  her  father's  story. 

What  happened  when  they  reached  the  hotel 
shall  be  told  a  little  later. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

WHAT   DR.   LINOL   TOLD  ME 

FOR  a  moment  the  doctor  and  I  stood  per- 
fectly speechless  with  astonishment  before 
the  corpulent  clerical  gentleman  who  had  just 
called  me  "  Christopher,"  and  spoken  of  me  as 
"  Mr.  Morton."  A  long,  searching  look  into  his 
face  brought  me  absolutely  nothing  in  the  way  of 
recognition;  yet  I  knew  that  unless  this  stranger 
had  made  an  almost  inconceivable  mistake,  he  must 
be  among  the  most  intimate  of  my  friends.  The 
use  of  the  Christian  name  as  a  term  of  address 
implies  much  greater  familiarity  in  France  than 
in  England  or  America. 

It  would  be  absolutely  brutal  to  confess  to  this 
man  that  I  did  not  know  him.  To  avoid  this,  I 
told  what  I  am  pretty  sure  was  a  lie. 

"  You  have  met  M.  de  Villiers  before,  I  think," 
said  I,  bowing  with  the  air  of  one  who  performs 
a  superfluous  introduction. 

The  doctor,  who  realized  my  predicament,  did 
not  deny  an  already  existing  acquaintance.  Luck- 

267 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

ily  for  us,  the  stranger  was  a  man  of  garrulous 
habit,  and  his  ready  flow  of  speech  prevented  the 
conversation  from  getting  stranded  right  from  the 
start. 

"  Your  friends  here  had  about  given  you  up," 
he  said.  "  When  we  first  heard  that  you  had  re- 
turned to  Europe  after  your  big-game  hunt 
in  West  Africa,  we  entertained  an  almost  daily 
expectation  of  seeing  you  here  at  Tours,  but  as 
months  went  by  and  we  heard  nothing  from  you — 
heard  nothing  of  you  except  what  was  current  in 
the  newspapers — we  began  to  think  that  you  had, 
indeed,  abandoned  us." 

"  Believe  me,"  said  I,  "  I  took  my  first  oppor- 
tunity to  come  back." 

He  smiled  with  a  pleasant  sort  of  skepticism. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  don't  hurry  away  again  till 
you  have  given  your  friends  a  chance  to  see  some- 
thing of  you  and  to  hear  your  budget  of  news." 

The  cadence  of  his  voice  suggested  that  he  was 
about  to  take  leave  of  us,  and  that  I  was  deter- 
mined to  prevent.  "  We  are  at  the  hotel  for  the 
present,"  said  I.  "  Won't  you  come  back  there 
now  and  lunch  with  us?  " 

My  words  seemed  to  surprise  him  a  little,  but 
he  accepted  the  invitation  very  promptly. 

We  started  up  the  street  together,  three  abreast. 
Before  we  had  gone  a  hundred  paces  I  became 

268 


WHAT    DR.    LINOL   TOLD    ME 

aware  that  we  were  creating  a  mild  sensation,  and 
that  I  was  evidently  the  cause  of  it.  The  people 
turned  about  as  we  passed,  looked  after  us,  point- 
ing me  out  when  they  thought  I  was  not  looking. 
Dozens  of  people  were  bowing  to  me — sleek-look- 
ing men  of  affairs,  tradesmen  from  their  shop 
doors,  and  one  extremely  pretty  woman  who  was 
driving  in  a  victoria.  Her  bow  suggested  that  if 
I  had  checked  my  pace  ever  so  little,  her  coach- 
man would  have  received  instructions  to  pull  up  to 
the  curb.  There  could  be  no  doubt  at  all  that  I 
was,  or  was  mistaken  for,  a  local  celebrity  of  con- 
siderable importance.  It  was  not  altogether  the 
absence  of  my  beard  that  made  the  difference. 
The  presence  of  my  new  companion  put  the  recog- 
nition of  me  beyond  a  doubt. 

Important  as  all  these  facts  were,  however — 
much  as  they  would  have  interested  me  in  ordinary 
circumstances — they  were  now  relegated  to  the 
background  of  my  thought.  My  unknown  friend's 
conversation  left  me  very  liMe  leisure  to  speculate 
upon  other  things. 

"  I  heard  this  morning,"  he  said  as  we  strolled 
along,  "  that  your  cousin,  Mr.  Arthur  Morton, 
had  arrived  in  Tours."  He  spoke  rather  hesita- 
tingly, as  if  hardly  knowing  whether  he  were  in- 
troducing a  theme  that  would  be  welcome  or  not. 
Neither  the  doctor  nor  I  made  any  comment.  And 

269 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

presently  he  continued:  "I  should  have  expected 
his  presence  here  to  act  as  a  deterrent  to  your  own 
return  rather  than  as  an  incentive  to  it,  but  pos- 
sibly you  did  not  know  he  had  come." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  knew  nothing  of  it." 

Then  the  doctor  spoke.  His  contribution  to 
the  talk  surprised  me.  "  Mr.  Arthur  Morton 
bears  a  rather  striking  resemblance  to  our  friend 
here,  does  he  not?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  admitted  that  he  does," 
said  our  new  friend  reluctantly,  "  although  I  my- 
self have  never  been  able  to  see  it.  I  suppose, 
however,  long  acquaintance  with  both  of  them  is 
what  prevents  me.  There  must,  however,  be  a 
family  likeness,  because  strangers  are  repeatedly 
mistaking  one  for  the  other." 

We  were  at  that  moment  crossing  the  square 
in  front  of  the  Hotel  de  1'Univers,  and  at  the  risk 
of  being  run  down  by  a  casual  cab,  the  doctor 
stopped  short  and  looked  our  new  acquaintance 
squarely  in  the  face.  '  You  are  perfectly  satisfied, 
are  you,  monsieur,"  he  asked,  "  that  that  resem- 
blance is  not  now  misleading  you?  You  are  quite 
sure  you  are  talking  to  Mr.  Christopher  Morton 
and  not,  in  fact,  to  his  cousin,  Mr.  Arthur?  " 

The  clergyman  returned  his  look  with  a  stare 
of  the  blankest  astonishment.  "  Can  it  be  possible 
that  you  are  serious,  monsieur?  "  he  asked. 

270 


WHAT    DR.    LINOL   TOLD   ME 

"  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life.  It  is  a 
matter  of  enormous  importance." 

"  I  am  perfectly  ready,"  said  the  stranger, 
speaking  rather  formally  and  stiffly,  and  with  the 
air  of  choosing  his  words,  "  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  take  my  oath,  upon  the  name  of  God,  that  this 
young  man,  upon  whose  shoulder  my  hand  rests, 
is  Christopher  Morton,  and  none  other.  The  re- 
semblance between  himself  and  his  cousin  could 
never  confuse  a  friend — hardly  an  acquaintance 
of  any  standing.  And  if  I  needed  further  proof, 
which  I  do  not,  my  recollection  of  the  day  when 
he  received  the  wound  that  left  that  white  scar 
upon  his  chin  would  settle  the  matter  beyond 
cavil." 

He  paused  a  moment  there,  and  his  look  of 
astonishment  deepened.  "  But  this  is  childish," 
he  continued.  "  Certainly  you  cannot  doubt  the 
word  of  our  friend  himself  that  he  is  Christopher 
Morton." 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  doctor  soberly,  "  is  un- 
able to  give  me  his  word.  He  does  not  know  who 
he  is.  Come,  let  us  go  into  the  hotel.  This  is  too 
serious  a  matter  for  the  curbstone." 

We  secured  a  little  private  dining  room  in  the 
hotel,  and  I  suppose  we  ordered  luncheon  and 
went  through  the  motions  of  eating  it.  At  any 
rate,  we  must  have  remained  at  the  table  for  hours 

271 


after  all  pretense  of  eating  lunch  had  been  aban- 
doned, for  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when,  at 
last,  we  pushed  back  our  chairs  and  looked  at  each 
other  in  blank  silence. 

Our  new  friend  had  done  most  of  the  talking. 
He  proved  to  be,  as  I  had  surmised,  the  pastor  of 
the  Protestant  church  of  Tours,  by  name  and  title 
Dr.  Etienne  Linol.  He  had,  it  seemed,  for  many 
years  resided  at  la  Mesle  in  the  capacity  of  tutor 
to  the  boy  Christopher  Morton. 

His  conviction  that  I  was  that  boy  remained 
completely  unshaken  all  the  afternoon.  He  spoke 
of  him,  when  addressing  me,  always  as  "  you." 
"  But  you  certainly  remember  how  you — "  he 
would  begin,  again  and  again,  prefacing  the  ac- 
count of  some  new  event,  sometimes  important, 
sometimes  trivial;  and  with  each  new  beginning 
he  would  always  be  just  as  confident  that  this  time 
he  was  going  to  strike  the  chord  of  memory  with- 
in me. 

He  was  telling  me  the  life  history  of  a  mildly 
interesting  and  decidedly  likable  young  man.  He 
insisted  that  that  young  man  was  I,  and,  so  far  as 
such  a  thing  could  be  proved,  he  proved  it.  And 
yet,  all  the  while,  the  inner  thing  that  was  I,  that 
was  the  only  /  there  could  be,  looked  on  as  a 
stranger. 

There  is  no  need  of  retelling  here  the  circum- 
272 


WHAT    DR.    LINOL   TOLD    ME 

stantial  biography  he  gave  us.  In  very  broad  out- 
line, here  is  the  life  and  character  of  the  young 
man  he  believed  me  to  be: 

His  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman,  intensely 
French,  capable  of  being  happy  nowhere  but  in 
France.  So  here  in  France,  at  Chateau  la  Mesle, 
which  was  hers  by  inheritance,  she  had  lived,  while 
her  husband  had  been  living  and  working  and 
piling  up  his  colossal  fortune  in  America.  There 
was  no  ill  feeling  between  them.  He  had  spent 
his  brief  vacations  with  her  until  the  time  of  her 
death. 

The  boy,  who  was  their  only  child,  she  had  ap- 
propriated for  her  own.  She  had  given  him  a 
good  education,  in  a  way,  though  hardly  one  to 
fit  him  for  the  responsibilities  that  would  come  to 
him  upon  his  father's  death.  He  had  grown  up 
a  rather  typical  French  aristocrat  of  the  better 
sort,  fond  of  sports  and  games,  a  good  boxer, 
fencer,  and  horseman.  The  only  thing  that  he 
carried  to  excess,  from  the  point  of  view  of  his 
friends,  was  his  passion  for  music.  He  was  a  bet- 
ter pianist  than  a  gentleman  had  any  right  to  be. 

His  cousin  Arthur  had  started  out  in  life  side 
by  side  with  him ;  had  shared  Dr.  Linol's  tutelage 
at  the  chateau,  but  before  he  was  fairly  out  of  his 
boyhood  he  had  developed  all  of  the  well-marked 
characteristics  of  the  black  sheep.  Finally  he 

273 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

drifted  away  altogether,  coming  back  only  when 
in  trouble,  and  only  staying  until  he  had  persuaded 
Christopher  and  his  mother  to  satisfy  his  needs. 

This  was  the  story  Dr.  Linol  told,  dropping 
his  eager  narrative  in  one  place  where  it  had  failed, 
only  to  pick  it  up  in  another  that  seemed  to  him 
to  promise  more  success.  So  far  as  the  facts  went, 
they  tallied  absolutely  with  what  data  the  doctor 
and  I  had  got  together  about  myself. 

Christopher  Morton  had  left  Tours  about 
three  years  ago.  He  had  appeared  for  the  last 
time  at  a  hunt-club  dinner  on  the  eve  of  his  de- 
parture for  West  Africa  to  hunt  big  game,  a  proj- 
ect which  his  friends  knew  he  had  been  preparing 
for  for  several  months.  Nothing  was  heard  of 
him  at  all  for  nearly  two  years,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  the  newspapers  simultaneously  reported  his 
father's  death  and  his  inheritance  of  the  entire  for- 
tune, and  then  began  recording  his  appearance  at 
various  resorts  of  frivolity  in  different  corners  of 
Europe.  So  far  as  I  knew,  there  was  no  particu- 
lar significance  about  these  dates,  but  M.  de  Vil- 
liers  evidently  saw  more  in  them  than  I  did. 

As  I  said,  at  last  we  all  fell  silent.  During 
all  those  hours  we  had  spent  there  I  had  listened, 
at  first  with  hope  but  later  with  the  apathy  of 
complete  despair.  It  was  not  only  that  my  old 
tutor's  words  called  back  nothing  of  the  past  to 
'  274 


WHAT    DR.    LINOL   TOLD    ME 

me,  that  failure  would  have  been  merely  one  of 
those  negative  disappointments  to  which  I  was  be- 
coming hardened,  but  in  telling  me  this  story,  he 
had  built  up  a  character  antipodally  different,  ut- 
terly irreconcilable,  it  seemed  to  me,  with  the  man 
Virginia  knew  me  to  have  been.  Neither  Vir- 
ginia nor  Dr.  Linol  could  possibly  be  mistaken  re- 
garding my  physical  identity.  They  had  known 
two  men  who  had  no  trait  in  common,  and  no 
sympathy  or  interest  in  common;  and  here  I  sat, 
possessing  the  body  and  mind  that  had  once  served 
the  uses  of  those  two  men. 

While  I  was  too  numb,  too  completely  dazed 
with  bewilderment  to  feel  the  full  tragedy  and  hor- 
ror of  it  then,  I  did  realize,  wearily,  that  some 
return,  some  acknowledgment,  was  due  to  Dr. 
Linol  for  his  kindness.  It  was  I  who  finally  broke 
the  silence,  and  it  was  to  him  I  spoke. 

"  I  think  you  have  proved,"  said  I,  "  that  I  once 
was  Christopher  Morton.  That  there  could  be 
any  other  explanation  of  the  facts  we  have  heard, 
seems  almost  inconceivable ;  at  any  rate,  I  have  no 
doubt  of  it.  I  once  was  Christopher  Morton.  But 
as  certainly  as  that  is  true,  it  is  equally  certain 
that  I  am  not  he  now.  I  have  been  listening  for 
hours  to  the  life  history  of  a  total  stranger.  You 
have  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  thank  you,  thank 
you  more  warmly  than  I  can  express  at  this  mo- 

275 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

ment,  for  the  eagerness  you  have  shown  to  be  of 
assistance  to  me.  You  have  offered  me  my  past, 
or  by  far  the  greater  part  of  it,  complete  in  every 
detail,  but  I  cannot  open  my  hands  to  receive  it." 

I  did  not  look  at  my  doctor.  I  felt  in  that 
moment  that  I  could  not  support  his  eye.  I  knew 
that  he  understood,  as  fully  as  I  could,  the  tragic 
inference  which  Dr.  Linol's  words  had  made  un- 
escapable. 

The  clergyman  would  have  said  something 
sympathetic,  would  have  condoled  with  me  upon 
my  misfortune.  I  saw  him  trying  to  think  of 
words  of  comfort  and  of  hope.  But  the  other 
man  knew  me  better. 

"  What  Dr.  Linol  has  told  us  just  now,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  has  been  of  inestimable  assistance  to  us, 
in  one  way;  a  way  which  you,  my  young  friend, 
have,  I  think,  for  the  moment  forgotten.  Mr. 
Heatherfield  and  his  daughter  are  almost  as  vitally 
concerned  in  this  story  which  we  have  just  heard 
as  you  are  yourself.  His  explanation  has  made  it 
perfectly  clear  that  the  rascal  who  invited  them  to 
Chateau  la  Mesle  to-day  was  Arthur  Morton,  and 
not  Christopher.  Whether  you  feel  that  you  can 
assume  that  name  or  not,  it  is  clearly  your  duty  to 
society  to  strip  him  of  it.  And  you  can  strip  the 
Dugglebys,  father  and  son,  of  the  power  they  have 
usurped." 

276 


VIRGINIA 

HIS  words  were  instantly  efficacious  in  rous- 
ing me  from  my  apathy.  The  invitation 
which  had  taken  Mr.  Heatherfield  and  Virginia  to 
la  Mesle  was  a  lure,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt, 
now,  that  it  had  been  a  lure  of  Duggleby's  con- 
triving. The  thought  of  their  danger  brought  me 
at  once  to  my  feet. 

Our  arrangements  had  been  that  they  were  to 
return  from  la  Mesle  to  this  hotel  and  meet  us 
here  some  time  in  the  afternoon.  The  first  thing 
to  find  out  was,  whether  they  had,  in  fact,  returned. 

With  a  word  of  excuse  to  M.  de  Villiers  and 
the  clergyman,  I  hurried  downstairs  and  sought 
the  concierge.  I  learned  from  him,  to  my  intense 
relief,  that  Virginia  and  her  father  had  been  back 
more  than  an  hour.  The  old  gentleman  had 
seemed  greatly  fatigued  and  excited,  the  concierge 
said,  and  his  daughter  had  engaged  rooms  for 
both  of  them.  They  had  inquired  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  M.  de  Villiers  and  myself,  but,  learn- 

277 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

ing  that  we  were  engaged  with  a  stranger,  had 
given  orders  that  we  were  not  to  be  interrupted. 

Two  minutes  later  I  was  knocking  on  Virginia's 
door.  She  opened  it  almost  instantly  and  without 
a  question. 

"  You  see,"  she  commented  rather  breathlessly, 
"  I  haven't  forgotten  your  step,  and — well,  I  knew 
you  would  come  to  me  as  soon  as  you  could." 
Then,  with  a  little  gesture  which  called  my  atten- 
tion to  the  condition  of  the  room,  she  added: 
"You  don't  mind,  do  you?  I've  been  shopping. 
I  had  to  replace  some  of  the  contents  of  my  hand 
bag." 

There  was  a  litter  of  packages  and  wrapping 
paper  on  the  bed  and  on  the  floor.  Some  of  the 
packages  had  been  opened,  and,  as  a  result,  Vir- 
ginia herself,  instead  of  being  clad  in  the  trim 
severity  which  had  characterized  her  before,  was 
wrapped  now,  from  her  white  neck  to  the  pompons 
on  her  soft  red  slippers,  in  a  long  kimono  of  flow- 
ered silk. 

Her  apology  was  clearly  intended  only  to  cover 
the  condition  of  the  room.  The  informality  of 
her  own  appearance  left  her  untroubled. 

She  closed  the  door  behind  me;  then  with 
both  hands  brushed  her  hair  back  out  of  her  eyes. 
There  was  something  delicious,  luxurious  about 
the  gesture,  and  she  concluded  it  by  stretching 

278 


VIRGINIA 

those  two  white  arms  out  toward  me  and  resting 
her  hands  upon  my  shoulders. 

"  We've  had  all  sorts  of  exciting  adventures, 
Morton,"  she  said;  "but  the  sight  of  you  here, 
alone  with  me  again,  makes  it  hard  to  begin." 

Then  she  drew  me  a  little  closer. 

u  You  look  more  natural,  somehow.  Some- 
thing's happened.  What  have  you  done?  Oh, 
you've  shaved  off  your  beard." 

She  interrupted  herself  to  laugh,  and  moved  a 
little  nearer  yet,  and  lay  her  cheek  against  mine. 

"  I  like  you  better  this  way,"  she  concluded. 

Then  she  slipped  her  hand  into  mine  and  led 
me  across  the  room. 

"  Sit  down  beside  me  on  the  sofa,  here,"  she 
said,  "  and  let's  talk.  I  suppose  I  must  tell  you 
the  tale  of  our  adventures." 

The  sweetness  of  her,  the  frank  simplicity  which 
went  along  with  this  complete  self-surrender,  was 
poignant  enough  to  turn  me  a  little  bit  giddy. 
From  her  point  of  view  I  was  her  husband,  and  it 
was  clear  enough  that  no  words  of  mine  could 
make  me  seem  anything  else  to  her.  And  yet,  from 
my  point  of  view,  except  that  I  loved  her,  I  was  al- 
most a  stranger  to  her.  I  had  seen  her  once,  for  a 
few  moments,  in  New  York,  in  an  electric  cab  with 
Duggleby,  from  which  she  had  dismounted  at  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge  terminal.  For  another  few  mo- 
19  279 


ments  I  had  seen  her,  and  had  spoken  half  a  dozen 
words  to  her  on  shipboard.  Except  for  those  two 
meetings,  my  whole  acquaintance  with  her,  all  my; 
conscious  memories  of  her,  dated  no  farther  back 
than  yesterday. 

And,  curiously  and  paradoxically  enough,  my 
unconscious  memories,  my  dream  pictures  of  her 
were  growing  fainter  every  hour,  just  in  propor- 
tion as  her  vivid,  present  personality  etched  itself 
more  deeply  in  my  present  consciousness. 

I  dropped  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  in  the 
rending  grip  of  violently  conflicting  emotions.  A 
savage,  relentless  instinct  in  me  told  me  that  I  was 
violating  her  confidence  and  privacy  by  being  there 
alone  with  her  on  those  terms ;  that  I  had  no  right, 
no  more  right  than  a  mere  masquerading  impostor 
would  have,  to  take  this  gift  which  she  so  frankly 
offered  me.  And  yet  I  longed  for  it,  with  a  long- 
ing that  fairly  hurt.  I  was  tired,  disheartened,  at 
the  end  of  my  hopes,  and  I  had  a  tired  child's  im- 
pulse to  seek  asylum  in  her  arms  and  slacken  for  a 
while  my  grip  upon  the  world.  And  I  knew  how 
eagerly  those  arms  would  grasp  me  into  that 
haven. 

I  bent  forward  and  buried  my  face  in  my  hands. 

'  You've  news,  too,"  she  said  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  intuition.  "  Something  has  happened  to 
you.  Something  has  happened  to  you  here  in 

280 


VIRGINIA 

Tours  to-day.  It's  not  bad  news,  is  it?  It  can't 
be  very  bad  news — can  it,  Morton,  dear?  " 

4  Virginia,"  said  I,  looking  up  at  her  suddenly, 
"  do  you  remember  the  old  story  of  the  man  who 
had  no  shadow?  Well,  that  story  has  come  true 
now,  and  it  is  my  own.  I'm  as  unsubstantial  as  a 
ghost.  You  think  that  I  am  the  man  you  knew 
and  loved  and  married,  a  man  you  learned  to  love 
for  his  humanity,  for  the  love  which  he,  in  turn, 
bore  his  neighbors,  a  man  who  worked  his  life  out 
for  them.  And  it's  true  that  that  man  lived  in 
my  body,  and  thought,  to  some  extent,  with  my 
mind.  But  in  spite  of  that,  do  you  know  what 
has  happened  to  me  to-day,  here  in  the  streets  of 
Tours?  I  have  seen  dozens  of  people  lifting 
thir  hats  to  me,  welcoming  me  back;  I  have  been 
identified  by  a  man,  who  knew  Christopher  Mor- 
ton intimately  for  years,  as  Christopher  Morton 
himself." 

"  Christopher  Morton — "  she  repeated  wonder- 
ingly.  "  But  that's  impossible !  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  So  far  as  such  a  case  can  be, 
that  case  is  proved.  And  yet,  all  he  told  me  of  the 
life  which  must  once  have  been  my  own  has  not 
kindled  one  spark  of  recognition  in  my  own  mind. 
What  good  will  it  do  to  prove,  by  inference  and 
deduction  and  documents,  who  the  man  was  who 
was  lost — Christopher  Morton  or  Morton  Smith? 

281 


(THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

That  won't  give  him  back  to  me.  That  can't  give 
me  back  the  only  thing  that  makes  a  man  himself. 
Though  I  prove  it  a  thousand  times,  I  shall  always 
be  unreal,  a  man  without  a  shadow." 

She  had  drawn  a  little  away  from  me  when  I 
had  spoken  of  Christopher  Morton,  startled,  half 
frightened,  and  gazed  at  me,  wide  eyed,  as  a  child 
might  gaze  at  a  stranger  whose  hand  he  had  con- 
fidingly taken,  thinking  it  to  be  his  father's. 

But  as  I  finished  speaking,  with  a  sudden  rush 
of  tears,  she  came  close  to  me  again,  slipped  her 
arm  around  my  neck,  pulled  my  head  down  and 
cradled  it  where  it  so  longed  to  be. 

"  I  won't  have  you  tortured  any  more,"  she 
cried,  half  fiercely.  "  I  won't  have  you  submitted 
to  any  more  experiments.  Do  you  think  I  would 
let  a  mere  trick  of  memory  take  you  away  from  me 
now  that  I  know  you're  you — take  you  away,  or 
even  threaten  to  ?  "  Then  her  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper.  "  7  know  you.  I  know  who  you  are  and 
what  you  are,  and  that's  enough.  I  know  your 
hair,  your  eyes,  and  every  line  about  them,  only 
some  are  deeper  than  they  were.  I  know  your 
hands  and  every  gesture  you  make  with  them.  I 
know  your  step,  your  voice." 

"  Dr.  Linol  knew  them,  too." 

She  laughed  softly  at  that.  "  Not  the  way  I  do 
— not  the  way  I  do,"  she  repeated. 

282 


"There  was  something  positively  magnetic  about  her  hands.' 


"  Yet  he  was  right;  he  is  right,  just  as  much  as 
you  are." 

"Listen !  "  she  commanded.  "  What  if  he  is,  or, 
rather,  what  if  you  believe  he  is?  What  if  you 
can't  help  believing  that  once  you  were  Christopher 
Morton,  and  that  at  another  time  you  were  Mor- 
ton Smith?  Let  the  whole  past  go  together  and 
stop  worrying.  It  will  come  back  some  day. 
Meanwhile,  you  are  somebody  now.  You  cast  a 
shadow  yourself  —  Monsieur  Barras  —  Monsieur 
Barras  whom  I've  known  only  two  days." 

Her  face  was  full  of  laughing  mockery  as  she 
said  those  last  words  and  she  pointed  the  absurdity 
she  had  pictured  by  bending  down  suddenly  and 
kissing  me. 

The  answer  to  her  sweet  fallacy  was  altogether 
too  clear.  I  had  no  guarantee  that  Simon  Barras 
would  be  more  permanent  than  his  two  predeces- 
sors. He  might  revert  to  either  one  of  them,  or  to 
another  man  completely,  if  the  horrible  theory 
which  explained  my  mystery  should  prove  true. 

But  I  could  not  answer  her  while  I  lay  there  in 
her  arms.  I  only  drew  a  long  breath  and  lay  still. 

After  a  little  silence,  she  asked:  "  Don't  you 
want  to  hear  what  happened  to  us  at  the  chateau 
to-day?" 

I  think  she  began  the  narrative  more  for  the  pur- 
pose of  diverting  my  own  thoughts  from  the  circle 

283 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

in  which  they  spun  than  from  any  very  present 
interest  of  her  own  in  it,  for  she  talked  rather  ab- 
sently. 

As  for  me,  while  I  heard,  it  could  hardly  be  said 
that  I  listened,  though,  as  it  was  afterwards 
proved,  I  remembered. 

After  she  had  finished,  there  was  a  silence  be- 
tween us.  Finally,  bending  down  over  me  she  met 
my  eyes. 

"  I  hoped  that  I  had  talked  you  to  sleep,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  going  to  put  you  to  sleep  now,  and 
then  it  will  be  time  for  me  to  dress  and  go  down 
to  dinner.  You're  not  to  go.  You've  seen  enough 
of  people  for  one  day,  and  I'd  rather  like  to  talk 
with  your  Dr.  Linol  myself." 

She  rose  from  her  place  on  the  sofa  and,  with 
gentle  compulsion,  made  me  lie  out  flat  upon  it. 
And  then,  crouching  near,  she  began  stroking  my 
forehead  and  temples  with  a  light,  rhythmic  touch. 
There  was  something  positively  magnetic  about  her 
hands,  and  in  spite  of  my  expressed  incredulity  as 
to  her  powers,  she  actually  did  as  she  prophesied. 

The  quiet  closing  of  the  door  after  her  as  she 
left  the  room  to  go  down  to  dinner  was  what  wak- 
ened me. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

MY    LAST    EXPERIMENT 

FOR  an  hour  after  I  was  roused  by  the  faint 
click  of  that  closing  door  behind  Virginia  I 
lay  quite  still  there  on  the  couch  where  she  had  left 
me.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that,  for  the 
length  of  that  interminable  hour,  I  suffered  the  tor- 
tures of  the  very  damned.  The  most  excruciating 
physical  pain  to  which  I  could  have  subjected  my- 
self would  have  been  a  pleasant  relief  from  the 
agony  of  my  thoughts. 

The  quest  I  had  set  out  upon  a  month  ago,  ac- 
tuated by  the  fond  belief  that  there  was  a  man 
somewhere  who  had  a  right  to  call  himself  I ;  the 
quest  which  had  so  grotesquely  terminated  to-day 
with  the  discovery  that  I  was  not  one  man,  but  ap- 
parently two,  that  was  hardly  in  my  thoughts  at 
all.  Not  directly  in  my  thoughts,  I  mean.  The 
events  of  that  month  and  the  conclusion  they  had 
led  me  to  formed  a  somber  background  to  the  one 
incandescent  fact  which  tortured  me. 

That  fact  was,  that  before  long  now,  in  another 
285 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

hour,  perhaps,  or  less  than  that,  Virginia  would  be 
coming  back,  back  to  this  room  of  hers,  whose  pri- 
vacy I  had  violated,  back  to  a  man  who  loved  her, 
and  yet  barely  knew  her,  a  man  she  believed  to  be 
her  husband. 

I  tried  to  wonder  what  that  man  had  been  like. 
The  notion  I  had  of  him,  from  the  meager  ac- 
counts she  had  given  me,  made  him  out  a  rather 
austere  figure;  a  sort  of  St.  Francis  of  modern  in- 
dustry; the  sort  of  man  that  most  of  us  nowadays, 
even  I — well,  Simon  B arras,  then — would  call  a 
fanatic.  He  chilled  me  a  little,  repelled  me,  that 
man  who  had  once  been  I,  the  man  Virginia  loved. 
I  felt  that  if  Simon  Barras  were  to  succeed  in  recon- 
ciling himself  with  either  of  those  two  men  who 
had  preceded  him  in  the  tenancy  of  this  body  and 
mind,  it  would  be  with  the  French  aristocrat  more 
nearly  than  with  the  American  altruist.  Chris- 
topher Morton  had,  at  least,  conducted  himself 
very  much  as  Simon  Barras  might  have  done  had 
he  ever  been  young  and  untrained,  and  spoiled  by 
a  too  indulgent  mother.  But  at  the  very  mention 
of  Christopher  Morton's  name,  Virginia  had 
shrunk  a  little. 

And  yet  in  an  hour  she  was  coming  back  to  me. 
And  when  she  came —  In  the  sweet  frankness  of 
her  innocence  she  had  already  tempted  me  clear 
to  the  edge  of  human  endurance.  The  appeal  of 

286 


MY   LAST  EXPERIMENT 

those  eyes  of  hers,  of  those  warm  red  lips  and  white 
arms  was  one  I  could  not  hope  to  resist  indefinitely. 
And  yet  to  surrender,  to  yield  to  the  sweet  fallacy 
of  her  reasoning,  would  brand  me  in  my  own  eyes, 
in  the  eyes  of  Simon  Barras,  as  a  vile  and  contemp- 
tible scoundrel. 

I  got  to  my  feet  at  that,  switched  on  the  light, 
and  stared  at  my  shaven  face  in  one  of  the  mirrors. 
For  aught  I  knew,  I  might  be,  to-morrow  or  next 
week,  the  sort  of  greedy  villain  who  would  take 
all  that  she,  in  her  innocent  bounty,  was  holding 
out  to  me.  But  now,  to-night,  I  thanked  God  that 
I  was  a  man,  a  gentleman.  And  to-night,  in  one 
way  or  another,  I  would  solve  my  problems ;  would 
find  an  answer  to  my  questions. 

Silently,  and  with  infinite  precaution  that  none 
of  my  friends  should  become  aware  of  my  flight,  I 
slipped  from  the  room,  stole  down  the  corridor  to 
an  unused  stairway,  made  my  way  to  the  street  and 
sprang  into  a  passing  cab,  whose  driver  responded 
to  my  signal.  I  did  not  speak  one  word  to  him, 
but  pointed  with  my  stick  down  the  rue  Nationale 
toward  the  bridge.  I  was  on  my  way  to  try  one 
last  experiment,  an  experiment  which,  at  least,  had 
this  advantage — that  it  would  be  conclusive. 

Long  before  we  reached  the  bridge  I  was  sur- 
prised to  find  myself  curiously  calm.  It  may  have 
been  that  the  breath  of  the  cool  night  air  had  some- 

287 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

thing  to  do  with  this  result,  as  also  the  fact  that  I, 
at  last,  was  doing  something,  not  merely  thinking. 
But  more  than  either,  I  think,  was  due  to  this,  that 
such  thoughts  as  I  had  been  wrestling  with  during 
the  past  hour  carry,  in  a  measure,  their  own  ano- 
dyne with  them.  For  a  man  to  try  to  realize  a 
doubt  about  his  own  identity,  to  question  his  right 
to  use  the  pronoun  I,  is  very  much  such  a  mental 
exercise  as  trying  to  think  in  terms  of  a  fourth  di- 
mension. The  conception  lies  the  other  side  of  a 
fixed  boundary  which  the  human  reason  cannot 
cross. 

As  I  settled  back  against  the  cushions  of  the  cab, 
my  tired  mind  reverted  to  the  old  conviction  that  I 
was  I,  and  that  in  some  way  it  must  be  possible  for 
me  to  recover  my  lost  self. 

When  I  had  succeeded  in  calming  myself  with 
that  reflection,  I  was  able  to  see  some  things  which 
held  out  a  promise  of  hope.  Never  since  the  mo- 
ment when  I  cast  that  first  glance  at  the  man  sit- 
ting at  the  other  end  of  the  bench  in  the  yard  at 
Dr.  Berry's  asylum  had  I  been  helped  in  any  way 
by  any  facts  which  had  been  related  concerning  my 
lost  past.  Indeed,  the  use  of  my  mind  upon  the 
problem — my  present  mind  I  mean — had  always 
served  to  blunt  and  deaden  the  action  of  the  only 
thing  which  had  ever  helped  me — the  thing  which 
I  must  call  my  instinct. 

288 


MY    LAST  EXPERIMENT 

Left  to  itself,  that  instinct  had  shown  itself 
capable  of  important  discoveries.  It  had  taught 
me  the  trick  of  the  foot  by  which  I  had  overcome, 
my  guards  in  Dr.  Berry's  asylum.  It  had  guided 
me  through  the  maze  of  streets  in  east  side  New 
York.  It  had  recognized  Virginia.  It  had  got 
me  my  job  at  Coney  Island  and  secured  for  me  the 
friendship  of  the  French  doctor.  It  had  guided 
me  to  the  Quai  d'Orsay ;  had  led  me  here  to  Tours ; 
had  conducted  me  through  this  city,  without  a  mo- 
ment's halt  or  hesitation,  straight  to  the  door  of 
what  I  knew  now  had  for  many  years  been  my 
home.  But  it  could  only  work  when  my  active, 
present  mind  suspended  operations  and  gave  it  a 
clear  field. 

To-day  I  had  been  giving  it  no  chance.  It 
should  not,  after  all,  have  made  me  despair  that 
Dr.  Linol's  eager  reminiscences  had  met  with  no 
response,  nor  even — though  this  was  harder  to  rea- 
lize— that  I  could  have  sat  beside  Virginia,  my 
heart  and  soul  thrilling  with  her  mere  presence 
there  beside  me,  and  yet  without  the  responsive 
vibration  of  one  single  chord  of  memory.  It  was 
not  in  the  eager  appeal  of  friendly  and  loving 
voices  that  I  should  find  the  answer  to  my  secret. 
But  the  thing  that  I  was  doing  now,  that  offered  a 
chance. 

As  a  plan,  it  possessed  the  virtue  of  a  perfectly 
289 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

rudimentary  simplicity.  I  was  going  home.  That 
was  all — home  to  Chateau  la  Mesle.  I  was  going 
alone,  unarmed,  unprovided  with  any  safeguard 
against  attack,  just  as  I  might  have  gone  three 
years  ago  after  that  last  hunt-club  dinner  that  Dr. 
Linol  had  told  about. 

The  presence  in  the  chateau  of  a  man  who  had 
determined  to  murder  me — who  had  made  an  at- 
tempt to  murder  me  only  that  morning,  and  of  a 
gang  of  rascals,  who  were  his  mere  hirelings,  on 
whom  he  could  rely  to  do  his  bidding  to  the  utmost 
— all  of  these  facts  played  a  very  small  part  in  my 
calculations.  What  part  they  did  play  was  favor- 
able to  my  plans,  rather  than  otherwise.  For  I  be- 
lieved that  necessity,  danger,  the  peril,  perhaps,  of 
instant  death  might  avail  to  bring  back  my  past  to 
me  where  milder  measures  had  failed.  I  laid  ab- 
solutely no  plans  to  meet  these  dangers,  took  no 
precautions  whatever  against  them.  So  far  as  pos- 
sible I  wiped  my  mind,  clean  as  a  schoolboy's  slate, 
of  all  records  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours — in- 
deed, of  all  records  whatever.  I  was  going  home. 
That  was  all. 

It  was  a  little  surprising  how  easy  of  accomplish- 
ment this  feat  proved  to  be.  Body  and  mind  re- 
laxed together.  I  leaned  back  against  the  cushions 
of  my  cab  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  inhaling  the  fra- 
grant smoke  with  lazy  pleasure.  My  cab  rolled 

290 


MY   LAST  EXPERIMENT 

out  between  the  stone  parapets  of  the  long  white 
bridge. 

Then,  as  I  looked  out  along  the  silvered,  sandy 
reaches  of  the  Loire,  illumined,  and  yet  caressingly 
concealed  by  the  veiled  half  moon  and  its  shadows, 
there  came  to  me  a  sense  of  repetition,  very  vague 
at  first,  but  growing  stronger  every  second.  The 
moonlight,  the  fragrance  of  my  cigarette,  the  hol- 
low rhythm  of  the  horse's  hoofs — all  played  their 
perfect  part  in  it. 

Suddenly,  without  intention,  without  in  the  least 
understanding  the  thing  I  did,  I  ordered  my  driver 
to  stop,  dismounted  from  the  cab,  handed  him  a 
five- franc  piece  and  told  him  to  go  back  to  Tours. 
The  act  was  so  completely  against  the  intent  with 
which  I  had  set  out,  namely,  of  driving  to  the  cha- 
teau, that,  for  just  an  instant,  my  mind  resisted 
my  unconscious  impulse.  But  I  thrust  this  hesita- 
tion from  me  almost  passionately.  It  was  the  last 
act  of  resistance  my  mind  made.  From  then  on, 
my  inner  man  had  full  control. 

I  walked  to  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  and  looked 
over.  There  were  strange  bits  of  driftwood  float- 
ing down  the  submerged  current  of  my  thoughts. 
There  was  something  about  a  man  trying  to  jump 
into  the  river  below  me — a  man  not  myself.  There 
was  something,  curiously  enough,  about  two  thou- 
sand francs. 

291 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

Presently,  in  obedience  to  an  automatic  impulse, 
I  resumed  my  way  on  foot  across  the  bridge, 
trudged  steadily  on  up  through  the  Tranche,  and 
turned  off  to  the  left  at  the  St.  Symphorien  post- 
office.  I  was  following  the  road  to  Chateau  la 
Mesle.  But  no  thought  of  my  destination  was  in 
my  mind.  It  was  occupied  altogether  with  that 
faint,  curious  echo  of  something  that  once  before 
had  happened  on  that  bridge  on  such  a  night  as 
this.  What  the  circumstance  was  I  did  not  know, 
but  it  must  have  left  me  in  a  strange  state  of  exulta- 
tion, for  that  was  the  feeling  I  was  conscious  of 
now — conscious  of  some  great  resolve  I  had  just 
taken — of  some  unworthy  thing  I  had  just  re- 
nounced. 

Swinging  along  the  moonlit  road,  I  felt  the  ex- 
citement of  these  emotions  without  being  aware  of 
their  cause.  Of  any  thoughts  of  Virginia  and  her 
father,  of  the  French  doctor,  of  Duggleby  and  his 
accomplice,  my  mind  was  absolutely  clear.  They 
were  as  if  they  had  never  been. 

Presently  I  found  myself  turning  off  the  road 
into  a  little  bypath.  The  great  gate  which  gave 
access  to  the  park  at  la  Mesle  was  still  half  a  mile 
away  down  the  road,  but  I  felt  no  misgivings  about 
turning  aside.  The  instinct  which  had  prompted 
me  was  absolutely  authoritative. 

The  path  was  a  mere  track  at  first,  between  two 
292 


MY    LAST  EXPERIMENT 

unfenced,  cultivated  fields.  Presently  it  crossed  a 
heavily  wooded  pasture.  Here,  under  the  trees, 
there  was  no  light  by  which  to  make  out  the  path, 
but  my  feet  never  faltered.  I  hardly  checked  my 
pace,  and  at  last  I  found  myself  walking  along 
beside  a  high  stone  wall.  Twenty  paces  ahead  of 
me  was  a  gate,  and  at  that  gate  I  stopped. 

I  seemed  to  know  somehow  that  the  gate  would 
not  be  locked;  at  any  rate,  I  experienced  no  sur- 
prise when  it  swung  open,  with  protesting  creaks, 
upon  my  shooting  the  wooden  bolt.  I  closed  the 
gate  after  me,  and  set  out  briskly  across  the  broad, 
wooded  lawn.  Right  before  me  rose  the  dear, 
familiar  outlines  of  Chateau  la  Mesle. 

Evidently  the  creaking  of  the  little  gate  had  at- 
tracted somebody's  attention,  for  a  man  came  hur- 
rying across  the  lawn  to  meet  me.  His  air  was 
rather  menacing,  but  it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  feel 
in  the  smallest  degree  alarmed,  and,  as  it  turned 
out,  my  confidence  was  justified.  He  came  quite 
close,  and  looked  into  my  face;  then  with  a  grum- 
ble of  apology,  touched  his  hat  and  walked  away. 

If  my  mind  had  been  working,  this  action  of  his 
would  have  given  me  something  to  think  about. 
My  instinct,  however,  took  the  man's  action  abso- 
lutely for  granted.  Why  should  a  guardian  of  my 
own  grounds  be  expected  to  act  in  any  other  way 
at  sight  of  me?* 

293 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

I  turned  presently  into  the  path  up  which  I  had 
started  to  walk  once  before — could  it  be  possible 
that  it  was  only  yesterday  that  the  wall-eyed  lodge 
keeper  had  turned  me  back  ? — the  path  that  led  to 
the  little  door  under  the  low  gray  stone  arch. 

This  door,  like  the  gate,  I  found  unlocked.  I 
stepped  within  and  closed  it  behind  me.  I  was  in 
total  darkness,  but  not  for  a  single  instant  did  I 
hesitate.  I  walked  forward  a  little  way,  found  a 
familiar  post  with  my  outstretched  hand,  and  be- 
gan ascending  a  long  spiral  stair.  At  the  head  of 
it  I  found  another  door,  which  I  opened  and  en- 
tered. 

I  explored  the  wall  at  my  left,  and  six  inches 
from  the  point  where  my  hand  had  touched  it, 
found  a  wall  switch  which  I  turned  on,  flooding 
the  room  instantly  with  light. 

From  the  moment  when  I  had  dismissed  the  cab 
on  the  bridge,  until  the  present  moment,  my  in- 
stinctive mind  had  not  committed  a  single  error, 
and  yet,  at  no  instant  of  that  time  could  I  have 
predicted  what  my  next  move  was  to  be.  There 
was  no  expectation,  when  I  turned  into  the  bypath, 
of  finding  the  gate;  no  expectation,  when  I  entered 
the  doorway,  of  finding  the  stairs.  I  had  done 
everything  as  methodically  and  unconsciously  as  if 
it  had  been  a  part  of  my  daily  routine  for  the  past 
three  years. 

294 


MY   LAST  EXPERIMENT 

But  with  the  turning  on  of  the  light  there  came 
a  change.  I  was  no  longer  calm ;  no  longer  mat- 
ter-of-fact. The  very  first  sight  of  the  outlines  of 
that  room,  of  its  heavy-beamed  ceiling,  of  the  tap- 
estries on  the  walls,  of  the  deep-embrasured  win- 
dows, the  articles  of  furniture,  the  first  glance  at 
all  that  brought  me  a  feeling  of  buoyant  delight 
that  almost  overwhelmed  me.  I  was  home !  home ! 
home  after  a  long  pilgrimage! 

I  laid  aside  my  hat  and  stick  and  dropped  rather 
limply  into  a  big  easy  chair.  I  think  I  must  have 
sat  there  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  my  mind 
all  the  while  in  a  perfectly  passive  state,  sat- 
isfied simply  with  a  sensation  of  rest  and  of  home- 
coming. 

At  last,  however,  I  rose  and  crossed  the  room 
to  a  small  door  at  the  other  side  of  it.  I  wanted 
my  dressing  gown  and  slippers  and  I  knew,  in  ad- 
vance this  time,  that  this  was  the  place  to  go  for 
them.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  I  was  wrong.  My 
expectation,  at  least,  was  disappointed.  The  room 
had  been  a  wardrobe  once,  but  it  was  now  empty 
except  for  a  couple  of  large  packing  boxes. 

I  turned  away  with  a  slight  feeling  of  bewilder- 
ment, crossed  my  broad  sitting  room  once  more, 
and  halted  before  a  small  cellaret.  Here  again 
I  knew  in  advance  what  I  wanted,  and  here  again 
I  was  disappointed.  Whatever  the  thing  might 
20  295 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

contain  it  was  locked,  and  a  search  of  my  pockets, 
of  course,  failed  to  produce  a  key. 

It  shows  how  strong,  how  perfectly  complete 
in  fact,  the  dominance  of  the  instinctive  Christo- 
pher Morton  was,  when  I  point  out  that  these  two 
failures  did  not  at  all  serve  to  throw  me  back  into 
the  personality  of  Simon  Barras.  My  present 
man,  if  such  I  may  call  him,  was  as  completely 
submerged  as  ever  my  lost  man  had  been. 

My  next  act  was  to  stride  impatiently  over  to 
the  bell,  which  was  in  the  wall  not  far  from  the 
fireplace,  and  ring.  I  expected  an  immediate  an- 
swer, but  did  not  get  it.  In  a  very  few  seconds  I 
rang  again,  and  this  time  louder.  At  last  I  heard 
footsteps  approaching  down  the  corridor.  The 
door  opened  a  little  way  and  a  strange  face  peered 
in  at  me. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  I  asked. 
"Where  is  Lauth?  " 

"  Who?  "  said  the  man  at  the  door.  His  man- 
ner certainly  was  not  that  of  a  well-trained  servant. 

"  My  valet — Lauth,"  I  answered.  "  Why 
doesn't  he  answer  the  bell  ?  " 

The  man  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  then  closed 
the  door  with  a  bang,  and  I  heard  him  hurrying 
away  down  the  corridor. 

Of  what  followed  in  the  next  half  hour  it  is 
not  easy  to  give  a  perfectly  intelligible  description. 

296 


MY    LAST  EXPERIMENT 

I  was  really  two  men — Christopher  Morton  and 
Simon  Barras,  and  you  will  remember  that  these 
two  men  were  almost  total  strangers  to  each  other. 
To  Morton,  at  least,  Barras  was  a  total  stranger. 
In  the  first  few  minutes  of  the  scene  that  followed 
sometimes  one  had  'possession  of  my  voice,  and 
sometimes  the  other. 

When  I  heard  steps  returning  along  the  corri- 
dor, when  I  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  voice 
asking,  "Are  you  in  there,  Morton?"  it  must 
have  been  Christopher  Morton  who  answered,  au- 
tomatically, "  Yes,  of  course.  Come  in."  It  must 
have  been  Christopher  Morton  who  looked,  un- 
moved, except  for  a  slight  feeling  of  disdainful 
surprise,  into  the  face  of  his  visitor.  That  visitor 
was  Alexander  Duggleby.  He  said: 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you?  Have 
you  gone  out  of  your  head?  " — started  to  say  it,  at 
any  rate,  but  the  sentence  died  unfinished  upon  a 
pair  of  pallid  lips.  He  shut  the  door  after  him 
quickly  and  leaned  back  against  it. 

I  did  not  understand  at  the  time  the  reason  why 
the  sight  of  me  there  in  my  room  should  affect  him 
so  strangely,  but  in  the  light  of  after  events  it  was 
clear  enough. 

I  had  shaved  off  my  beard  since  he  had  seen  me 
in  the  morning,  and  by  doing  so  had  accentuated 
my  likeness  to  my  cousin  Arthur — the  likeness. 

297 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

which  had  deceived  both  the  man  I  had  met  in 
the  park  and  the  man  who  answered  my  bell.  This 
latter  rascal  had  gone  to  Duggleby  and  told  him 
that  Mr.  Morton  (meaning  Arthur,  of  course) 
was  up  in  the  tower  room,  and  apparently  out  of 
his  head.  Duggleby  had,  indeed,  addressed  me 
under  the  impression  that  I  was  Arthur.  It  took 
the  second  look  to  reveal  to  him  his  mistake. 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  I  quietly  and  rather  con- 
temptuously, "  that  I  enjoyed  the  honor  of  having 
you  for  a  guest  here  at  la  Mesle." 

At  that  I  saw  the  light  come  back  into  his  face. 
His  brows  drew  together  ominously. 

Something  about  his  expression  brought  me 
back  momentarily  into  the  present.  I  passed  my 
hand  confusedly  over  my  eyes,  and  for  an  instant 
groped  to  find  myself. 

"  I  was  mistaken,"  I  continued.  "  I  believe  I 
was  aware  that  you  used  my  father's  house  to-day 
as  a  trap  for  one  of  his  old  friends.  It  was  in  my 
morning  room,  I  believe,  that  you  picked  Mr. 
Heatherfield's  pocket." 

Duggleby  smiled.  "  You  think  you  are  aware 
of  it  ?  Well,  luckily  for  you  I  have  got  something 
to  bargain  with.  This  morning  I  hadn't.  This 
morning  I'd  have  been  glad  of  a  chance  to  kill 
you."  He  was  smiling  now,  in  open  derision. 
"  Possibly  you  suspected  as  much.  But  now,  luck- 

298 


MY   LAST  EXPERIMENT 

ily  for  you,  I  can  drive  a  bargain.  I  couldn't  the 
last  time  you  and  I  discussed  your  father-in-law's 
affairs.  You  were  very  moral  and  very  high- 
handed. You  were  going  to  do  a  great  many 
things." 

He  would  have  gone  on,  but  I  interrupted  him, 
and  in  doing  so  I  committed  an  indiscretion  which 
might  well  have  cost  me  my  life.  It  resulted  from 
a  curious  confusion  between  my  two  persons.  The 
events  of  the  day  were  perfectly  clear  in  my  mind 
— his  attempt  to  assassinate  me  in  the  road  that 
morning — the  conference  between  Virginia,  the 
doctor,  and  me  concerning  the  wisdom  of  accept- 
ing the  invitation  of  the  man  who  pretended  to 
be  Christopher  Morton — the  precautions  we  had 
taken  to  avoid  the  very  trap  which  was  laid  for 
Mr.  Heatherfield — the  account  of  their  adventures 
at  the  chateau — that,  I  say,  was  as  clear  to  me  as 
if  I  had  been  Simon  Barras  and  no  one  else. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  that,  as  I  stood  there,  facing 
my  angry,  dangerous  enemy,  I  was  Christopher 
Morton.  My  feelings  were  those  of  a  man  stand- 
ing on  his  own  hearthstone,  surrounded  by  his  own 
friends  and  servants.  And,  in  consequence  of  the 
strength  of  that  feeling,  I  interrupted  him  to  tear 
away  the  only  real  defense  I  had  against  his  vio- 
lence. 

"  You  need  not  trouble  to  state  the  terms  of 
299 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

your  bargain,"  said  I,  "  because  there  is  no  bar- 
gain you  could  make.  You  picked  a  man's  pocket 
this  afternoon,  and  what  you  got  was  a  little  ficti- 
tious document  which  had  been  prepared  in  antici- 
pation of  the  very  attempt  you  made." 

He  laughed.  "  You  knew  about  Morton's  trick, 
did  you?  Well,  I  saw  through  it.  It  failed  to 
work." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  you  saw  through  Morton's 
trick,  but  not  through  Mr.  Heatherfield's.  There 
was  no  common  salt  and  sulphuric  acid  in  Mr. 
Heatherfield's  formula,  but,  for  all  that,  it  was 
just  exactly  as  valuable  as  Morton's,  and  not  one 
bit  more." 

His  face  went  perfectly  black  at  that.  "  I  know 
you  are  telling  me  the  truth,"  he  said,  "  but 
whether  you  are  a  lunatic  or  only  a  fool,  I  don't 
know.  Perhaps  you  are  a  sensible  man  looking  for 
an  easy  way  to  commit  suicide,  for  I  swear  to  you 
you  shall  never  leave  this  room  alive." 

"  Don't  be  theatrical,"  I  said  sharply.  "  YouVe 
had  two  chances  to  assassinate  me  and  have  failed 
twice,  but  this  isn't  exactly  the  place  to  make  the 
third  attempt." 

As  I  spoke,  I  reached  out  my  hand  and  pressed 
the  button.  Until  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  bell 
ringing,  my  delusion  was  complete.  I  as  fully  ex- 
pected that  it  would  be  instantly  answered  by  one 

300 


MY   LAST  EXPERIMENT 

of  my  former  servants,  as  that  my  own  hand  would 
obey  my  will.  But,  with  the  sound  of  the  bell  it- 
self, the  delusion,  somehow,  fell  away  from  me — 
fell  away  instantly.  I  was  standing  with  my  logi- 
cal feet  squarely  on  the  ground,  with  the  complete 
realization  of  the  acute  peril  into  which  I  had 
plunged. 

And  I  was  looking  down  the  barrel  of  Alexan- 
der Duggleby's  revolver. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE    SECRET    CHAMBER 

THE  bell  I  had  rung  was  answered  instantly. 
So  far  my  expectation  was  verified.  But  it 
was  no  servant  of  mine  who  stood  there  in  the 
doorway.  It  was  the  wall-eyed  lodge  keeper. 
Duggleby  summoned  him  into  the  room,  and  bade 
him  close  the  door  after  him,  still  keeping  me  cov- 
ered with  his  revolver. 

"  Go  over  and  search  him,"  he  commanded, 
"  and  see  if  he  is  armed." 

The  man  did  his  bidding,  swiftly,  expertly,  but 
without  unnecessary  roughness.  The  result  of  his 
search  produced  nothing  more  formidable  than  a 
pocketknife. 

The  position  to  which  I  had  moved  in  order  to 
ring  the  bell  was  in  an  angle  formed  by  the  great 
chimney;  a  solid  oak  wainscoting,  shoulder  high, 
behind  me  and  np  window  within  ten  paces.  To 
express  my  situation  with  literal  accuracy,  I  was 
cornered. 

"  Now,"  said  Duggleby,  when  the  man  had  fin- 
302 


THE    SECRET    CHAMBER 

ished  searching  me,  "  move  that  table  across  in 
front  of  him,  corner  ways.  Do  you  understand?  " 
His  French  was  rudimentary,  but  his  pantomime 
was  expressive. 

The  man  swung  the  heavy  table  around,  and  I 
was  penned  into  my  corner  a  little  more  effectually 
than  before.  The  man  then  turned  to  Duggleby 
for  further  instructions. 

"  Go  and  find  Mr.  Morton,"  said  my  captor 
curtly,  "  and  tell  him  to  come  here  at  once." 

The  man  replied  with  an  expression  not  to  be 
found  in  the  lexicons,  and  Duggleby  looked  puz- 
zled. "  He  says,"  I  translated,  "  that  the  man  you 
call  Morton  has  skipped." 

He  looked  at  me  thoughtfully,  curiously,  but 
evidently  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  doubt  the  truth 
of  what  the  man  said,  nor  the  accuracy  of  my 
translation. 

There  was  a  long  minute  of  silence.  My  captor 
was  looking  neither  at  me  nor  at  the  villainous 
young  man  who  was  in  his  hire.  It  was  to  the 
latter  that  he  finally  spoke: 

"  That's  all  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
not  to  be  disturbed  on  any  pretext.  But  go  to  the 
lodge,  and  if  anyone  tries  to  get  in  at  the  park 
gates,  ring  the  house  bell." 

The  man  left  the  room  without  a  word.  Dug- 
gleby locked  the  door  after  him  and  tucked  the 

303 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

key  in  his  pocket.  "  You  understand,  of  course," 
he  then  said  to  me,  "  that  if  you  try  to  get  out  of 
that  corner  I  shall  kill  you  instantly.  I'm  a  good 
shot.  It  won't  need  but  one." 

I  made  no  reply.  The  footsteps  of  the  man 
who  had  searched  me  receded  and  became  inau- 
dible down  the  corridor. 

So  I  and  my  enemy  were  left  alone  together.  I 
might  almost  say  that  Duggleby  was  left  alone, 
for  he  seemed  hardly  to  count  me  as  a  living  hu- 
man person  at  all.  The  coolness,  calmness,  the 
recklessness  which  always  seemed  to  characterize 
him  before,  somehow  disappeared.  His  face 
looked  gray;  his  eyes  were  somber  with  tragedy. 
He  made  me  think,  somehow,  of  Macbeth  when, 
at  the  end  of  his  futile  career  of  slaughter,  he  sat 
waiting  till  Birnam  Wood  should  move  on  Dun- 
sinane.  I  was  completely  in  his  power.  I  felt  per- 
fectly sure  that  he  meant  to  take  my  life.  And 
yet  my  feeling  toward  him  was  not  of  loathing, 
nor  anger,  nor  fear,  but  almost  of  pity. 

For  quite  a  while — I  had  no  means  of  measur- 
ing the  time,  but  probably  not  less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour — he  paced  restlessly  and  moodily  about 
the  room.  Finally  I  found  him  gazing  at  me 
meditatively,  as  if  I  had  spoken  aloud  the  thing 
that  was  in  my  mind. 

"  Yes,"    he    said,    "  you    are    right   about    it. 

3°4 


THE    SECRET    CHAMBER 

You  know  I  am  going  to  kill  you,  but  you  are 
thinking  that,  after  all,  you  had  rather  be  in  your 
shoes  than  in  mine.  And,  as  I  say,  you  are 
right." 

I  can  pretend  to  none  of  that  supernatural  cour- 
age of  which  I  have  sometimes  read  in  books. 
With  any  possibility  of  action  before  me,  with  an 
even  chance  of  escape,  nay,  with  a  chance  of  one  in 
a  hundred,  provided  that  chance  depended  upon 
my  own  exertions,  I  think  I  could  have  faced  death 
with  fortitude. 

But  standing  there,  unarmed,  penned  in,  wait- 
ing only  for  the  moment  that  suited  his  pleasure, 
to  be  shot  to  death,  I  felt  the  chill  and  the  nausea 
of  crude  terror  assail  me;  I  felt  the  sweat  gather 
on  my  forehead  and  run  down  into  my  eyes.  I 
struggled  against  it  with  the  utmost  power  of  my 
will.  There  was  something  indecent  about  a  ter- 
ror like  that,  I  said  to  myself.  I  wanted  to  die 
like  a  man,  not  like  a  dog.  Even  the  most  de- 
graded criminal,  I  reflected,  walked  out  on  the  trap 
and  submitted  to  the  noose  with  a  decent  appear- 
ance of  composure. 

Strangely  enough,  while  that  agonized  struggle 
was  going  on  in  my  soul,  I  could  hear  my  own  voice 
talking.  It  was  mine,  undoubtedly,  but  it  sounded 
remote,  uncannily  calm. 

"  That's  an  audacious  assumption  of  yours,"  it 
305 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

was  saying  quietly,  in  answer  to  Duggleby's  last 
words.  "  Have  you  ever  stood  in  the  shoes  of  a 
man  who  was  waiting  to  be  murdered?  " 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  said  Duggleby,  "  have 
you  ever  stood  in  the  position  of  a  man  trying  to 
get  up  his  courage  to  commit  a  murder?  " 

"  That  suggests  the  one  thing  that  I  am  really 
curious  about,"  the  voice  that  was  not  mine  replied. 
"  I  can  understand  that,  with  affairs  in  the  posi- 
tion they  have  reached  to-night,  there  is  nothing 
else  that  you  can  do.  But  what  possible  compul- 
sion were  you  under  at  first  ?  What  incomprehen- 
sible force  was  it  that  drove  you  to  try  to  kill  me 
that  night  in  your  father's  library?" 

Strangely  enough,  I,  myself,  did  not  understand 
the  question  that  I  asked;  did  not  know  at  all  to 
what  event  it  referred.  The  question  asked  itself, 
mechanically,  somehow,  out  of  the  inward  recesses 
of  Christopher  Morton's  mind. 

But  Duggleby  understood.  He  looked  at  me 
gravely.  "  I'd  really  like  to  tell  you  about  that," 
he  said,  "  but  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  time.  If  that 
rascally  cousin  of  yours  hadn't  given  me  the  slip, 
I  think  I  should  have  chanced  it." 

Mechanically  the  voice  that  I  hardly  recognized 
asked  another  question :  "  How  long  ago  was  that, 
by  the  way — that  night,  when,  without  warning, 
you  flung  yourself  upon  me  ?  " 

306 


THE    SECRET    CHAMBER 

"  About  a  year,"  he  answered  absently.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know?  " 

He  interrupted  himself  there  and  turned  upon 
me  furiously  as  he  did  so :  "  Damn  you !  "  he  cried. 
"  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  what  you  are  doing? 
Trying  to  make  me  talk — asking  me  questions — 
taking  up  time.  Well,  time  is  up  now.  Do  you 
understand  that  ?  " 

"  The  decision  apparently  rests  with  you," 
said  I. 

"  Listen,"  said  he.  "  You  are  to  turn  your  face 
to  the  wall,  and  I  will  count  ten,  slowly,  at  inter- 
vals, as  nearly  as  I  can  guess,  of  a  second.  At  the 
count  of  ten  I  shall  fire,  and — well,  you  needn't  be 
uneasy  about  my  marksmanship." 

I  reeled  a  little  as  I  turned,  for  the  old  horror 
was  coming  over  me  again.  To  steady  myself,  I 
clutched  at  a  narrow  ledge  which  ran  around  the 
top  of  the  wainscoting. 

Something  familiar  about  the  touch  of  it  led  my 
fingers  over  the  surface  of  its  carvings,  led  them 
along,  and  presently  arrested  them.  Duggleby  by 
that  time  had  counted  three.  One  of  my  fingers 
pressed  its  way  into  a  little  hole  in  the  carving  over 
which  it  had  stopped,  and  with  that  pressure  the 
bit  of  wood  yielded. 

And  then  something  happened  I 

With  that  tiny  mechanical  response  to  an  old 

307 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

familiar  touch,  my  miracle — the  miracle  I  had  de- 
spaired of — was  wrought. 

Ever  since  I  had  stood  by  the  bridge  parapet, 
two  hours  ago,  my  past  had  been  drifting  down  to 
me.  But  it  had  been  fragmentary,  illusive,  incon- 
sequent, and  had  confused,  bewildered  me,  giving 
me  the  feeling  of  a  man  slipping  in  and  out  of  a 
dream. 

What  happened  now  was  different  altogether. 
It  was  absolutely  instantaneous.  One  moment  it 
was  not.  The  next  it  was  complete.  It  was  so 
simple,  and  yet  so  miraculous,  as  to  leave  me  at  a 
loss  to  describe  it.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  somehow, 
in  that  extreme  moment,  a  long  interrupted  cur- 
rent flashed  round  its  circuit  again.  The  thing 
that  makes  a  man  himself,  the  knowledge  that  I 
was  I,  the  vivid  electric  spark  of  identity  shot 
across  the  poles  of  my  consciousness.  It  was  too 
quick  for  memories.  I  made  no  effort  to  remem- 
ber; nay,  like  the  traveler  on  the  road  to  Damascus, 
in  the  illumination  of  that  moment  I  was  blinded 
by  the  excess  of  light.  I  was  a  man  now;  not  a 
ghost.  I  saw  my  shadow. 

And  in  the  dazzling  consciousness  of  that 
supreme  fact  I  forgot  the  fear  of  death;  for- 
got that  Duggleby  was  counting  there  behind 
me. 

Whether  I  should  have  let  him  count  ten  and 
308 


THE    SECRET    CHAMBER 

kill  me  without  availing  myself  of  the  means  of 
escape,  or  the  good  hope  of  it,  at  any  rate,  that 
was  beneath  my  finger,  I  do  not  know.  But  in  that 
very  moment  we  heard  the  clanging  of  a  great  bell. 
Some  one  was  at  the  park  gates. 

Duggleby  had  just  counted  six.  "  Don't  be 
afraid,"  he  said.  "  I  promised  you  ten.  You  shall 
have  it." 

And  then  he  counted  seven.  As  he  did  so  I 
pressed  again,  and  this  time  harder,  against  the 
little  spot  in  the  carving  that  had  yielded  before. 

Silently,  screened  from  his  view  by  my  interpos- 
ing body,  a  panel  in  the  wainscoting  began  sliding 
backward.  When  it  had  opened  wide  enough  to 
admit  my  body,  I  crouched  suddenly  and  sprang 
through. 

Duggleby  fired,  and  fired  quickly,  but  the  big 
table,  behind  which  he  had  had  me  penned, 
screened  me  and  deflected  the  bullet. 

He  fired  a  second  shot  that  grazed  my  shoulder, 
just  as  I  was  getting  out  of  range,  sideways.  I  shot 
the  heavy  panel  back  and  from  behind  its  protec- 
tion I  heard  a  moment  later  a  third  shot  fired,  but 
did  not  hear  it  strike. 

Strangest  of  all,  just  as  that  third  shot  was  fired, 
I  thought  I  heard  a  man's  voice  cry  out :  "  Thank 
God !  "  And  the  voice  sounded  like  Duggleby's 
own. 

309 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

I  fear  I  must  once  more  interrupt  my  narrative 
to  tell  what  my  friends  had  been  doing  since  I  had 
so  unceremoniously  taken  French  leave  of  them  in 
the  hotel.  M.  de  Villiers  and  Virginia  discovered 
my  absence  after  I  had  been  gone  perhaps  an  hour. 
He  already  knew  from  her  own  lips  something  of 
what  had  passed  between  us.  He  understood,  bet- 
ter than  it  was  possible  for  her  to  do,  the  horrible 
inference  which  must  result  from  the  double  yet 
diverse  identification  of  myself  which  she  and  Dr. 
Linol  had  made.  On  discovering  my  flight,  an  in- 
stantaneous fear  sprang  up  in  him,  which  amounted 
almost  to  conviction,  that  I  had  left  the  hotel  with 
the  idea  of  destroying  myself. 

He  said  nothing  of  this  fear  to  Virginia  or  her 
father,  and  he  induced  Dr.  Linol,  who  had  re- 
mained for  dinner  with  them,  to  return  to  them 
and  wait  until  he  came  back.  He  then  went 
straight  to  the  prefecture,  where  he  communicated 
to  the  police  the  account  of  my  disappearance,  and 
had  an  organized  search  for  me,  or  for  my  body, 
started  at  once.  Telling  his  tale  there  consumed 
some  little  time,  and  when  he  returned  to  the  hotel 
it  was  to  find  Virginia  and  Dr.  Linol,  together  with 
no  less  a  person  than  my  cousin,  Arthur  Morton, 
on  the  point  of  setting  out  for  the  chateau. 

It  appears  that  the  man  who  had  met  me  on  the 
lawn  had  mistaken  me  for  my  cousin.  He  had  en- 

310 


THE    SECRET   CHAMBER 

countered  Arthur  himself  not  three  minutes  later, 
and  the  evening  dress  which  Arthur  wore  convinced 
the  man  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  regarding  my 
identity.  This  he  confided  to  Arthur.  Arthur's 
loyalty  to  Duggleby  had  been  wavering  all  day, 
more  especially  since  lunch  time.  Guessing  that  it 
was  I  who  had  come  to  the  chateau,  and  convinced 
that  if  Duggleby  encountered  me  there  he  would 
murder  me  in  cold  blood,  he  decided  on  the  spot 
to  take  the  most  effective  measure  he  could  think 
of  to  avoid  complicity  in  the  deed. 

He  jumped  on  a  horse  which  was  already  sad- 
dled and  rode  posthaste  into  Tours,  intent  on  find- 
ing M.  de  Villiers,  warning  him  of  my  danger, 
and  making  an  appeal  for  mercy  for  himself.  This 
intention  being  frustrated  by  the  doctor's  absence, 
he  next  asked  for  Virginia.  Dr.  Linol's  presence 
in  the  room  with  her  was,  of  course,  completely 
unexpected  and  reduced  him  to  a  condition  of 
downright  servility.  He  would  do  anything;  he 
would  change  sides;  he  would  confess  all  he 
knew.  What  was  more  to  the  point,  he  would 
go  with  them  to  the  chateau  in  the  hope  that  they 
might  not  prove  too  late  to  save  me  from  Dug- 
gleby. 

Virginia,  on  her  own  responsibility,  ordered  out 
the  doctor's  car  and  positively  insisted  on  accom- 
panying the  party.  M.  de  Villiers,  returning  just 
21  311 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

as  they  were  about  to  set  out,  of  course  joined 
them. 

Over  the  smooth,  empty  roads  the  car  burned 
up  the  four  or  five  miles  between  the  hotel  and  the 
chateau  in  hardly  more  than  as  many  minutes. 
They  found  the  park  gates  open  and  came  flying  up 
the  driveway  with  scarcely  a  pause.  They  were 
not  aware  until  afterwards  that  anyone  in  the  lodge 
had  given  the  alarm  as  they  passed. 

When  they  reached  the  chateau  it  was  to  all 
appearances,  and  in  fact,  completely  deserted  ex- 
cept for  the  presence  of  myself,  hidden  behind  the 
paneled  door  of  the  secret  chamber,  and  Duggleby 
lying  on  the  floor  of  my  sitting  room,  dying  from 
the  effect  of  the  third  shot  which  I  had  heard  and 
which  he  had  fired  into  his  own  body.  It  was, 
perhaps,  three  or  four  minutes  after  Duggleby  had 
fired  that  last  shot  when  the  doctor,  his  chauf- 
feur, an  absolutely  faithful  man,  and  my  renegade 
cousin  rushed  into  the  room.  Virginia  had  been 
left  downstairs  in  the  morning  room  under  the 
protection  of  Dr.  Linol. 

Chateau  la  Mesle  has  no  historic  right  to  possess 
a  secret  chamber  with  a  hidden  door.  It  is  com- 
paratively modern,  dating  only  from  the  days  of 
the  Empire,  and  the  secret  chamber  had  been  built 
solely  for  my  own  amusement  by  my  indulgent 
mother  in  my  younger  days,  when  visits  to  the 

312 


THE    SECRET    CHAMBER 

neighboring  chateaux  of  Blois  and  Loches  had  set 
my  brain  afire  with  romantic  enthusiasm.  The 
construction  of  it  had  been  conducted,  under  my 
own  boyish  superintendence,  with  the  greatest  se- 
crecy. My  cousin  Arthur  himself  had  never  heard 
of  its  existence.  I  remember  the  days  when  we 
were  building  it  as  days  of  the  most  undiluted  and 
most  delirious  happiness  I  had  ever  enjoyed. 

It  was  a  strange  freak  of  chance  that  my  moth- 
er's indulgence  of  this  childish  whim  of  mine 
should  have  been  so  directly  instrumental  not  only 
in  saving  my  life  but  in  working  the  miracle  with- 
out which  my  life  would  hardly  have  been  worth 
saving. 

The  moment  I  slid  the  panel  to  behind  me,  with 
the  echo  of  Duggleby's  shots  still  ringing  in  my 
ears,  I  groped  my  way  across  the  little  room,  which 
was  built  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls,  and  found 
without  difficulty  the  entrance  to  the  tiny  tunnel 
which  provided  the  room  with  its  other  outlet. 
This  tunnel  led  around  behind  the  chimney,  turned 
to  the  right  and  opened  out  into  another  paneled 
door,  which  had  been  the  bedroom  of  my  suite. 
Of  course  I  knew  perfectly  well  where  I  was  go- 
ing, but  for  all  that  I  had  to  go  slowly.  I  was  a 
normal  man  again  and  my  memory  worked  like  a 
normal  man's;  there  was  no  more  of  that  preter- 
natural swiftness  and  accuracy  about  it  which  had 

313 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

characterized  it  so  sharply  when  it  was  a  mere  sub- 
conscious instinct. 

I  turned  into  the  corridor  just  in  time  to  meet 
the  doctor  rushing  rather  wildly  out  of  my 
sitting  room  in  search  of  me.  Following  him 
came  Arthur  and  the  chauffeur  carrying  Duggleby 
in  their  arms  to  the  nearest  bedroom. 

The  doctor's  expression  when  he  caught  sight  of 
me  was  complex.  There  was  joy  in  it  and  the  most 
intense  relief;  and,  yet,  I  could  see  there,  too,  a 
perfectly  justifiable  anger. 

I  took  him  by  both  shoulders.  "  I  had  to  try 
this  last  experiment  alone,"  said  I.  "  If  it  had 
failed  I  should  have  welcomed  the  penalty  of  fail- 
ure, for  life  was  unendurable  to  me  two  hours  ago. 
But  it  has  succeeded.  I  am  my  own  man  again." 

The  sudden  relaxation  of  his  body  under  my 
hands  told  me  to  what  a  terrible  strain  that  last 
experiment  had  subjected  him.  But  all  the  anger 
had  died  out  of  his  face. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said.  "  Now  go  quickly  and 
tell  Virginia." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  I,  "  as  fast  as  your  automobile 
can  carry  me." 

"  There's  no  need  of  that,"  he  answered. 
41  She's  here." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE 

IT  was  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  joy  and  most 
poignant  remorse  that  I  caught  my  first 
glimpse  of  her  there  in  the  morning  room.  I  had 
entered  the  room  softly  and  saw  her  face  before  she 
caught  sight  of  mine — her  dear,  brave,  pale,  beau- 
tiful face,  with  grief-haunted  eyes  and  tight- 
pressed  lips. 

She  heard  when  I  closed  the  door  behind  me, 
and  turned  and  looked,  and  was  transfigured.  A 
sudden  sense  of  my  own  unworthiness  to  have 
caused  a  grief  like  that,  or  such  a  joy,  blinded  my 
own  eyes  with  sudden  tears. 

Dr.  Linol  was  standing  beside  her.  I  walked 
swiftly  across  the  room  and  shook  his  hand  gravely, 
without  a  word.  He  tried  to  stammer  out  some- 
thing, but  failed  to  command  his  voice,  and  turned 
abruptly  and  left  the  room. 

I  slipped  my  arm  around  Virginia's  waist, 
opened  one  of  the  great  French  windows,  and  led 
her  out  upon  the  moonlit  terrace  to  a  great  stone 

315 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

bench  that  stood  near  by.  She  was  trembling  un- 
controllably. 

"  Virginia,  dearest,  I  have  come  back." 

Since  the  moment  when  the  doctor  had  told 
me  that  she  was  in  the  chateau,  I  had  been  think- 
ing how  I  should  tell  her  of  my  miracle.  But  these 
words  were  the  product  of  no  such  thought.  They 
came  spontaneously,  and  it  seemed  they  were 
enough. 

"  You  have  come  back  to  Christopher  Morton, 
I  know,"  she  said  unsteadily.  "  I  saw  that  when 
you  shook  hands  with  Dr.  Linol.  But  have  you 
also  come  back  to — to " 

"  Morton  Smith?  Yes,  to  him,  Virginia,  and 
to  you." 

Her  eyes  clouded  a  little,  and  I  saw  she  was 
struggling  with  a  question  she  found  it  hard  to  ask. 

"  Were  you  Christopher  Morton  all  the  while 
that  you  pretended  to  be  the  other  man — the  man 
I  learned  to  know  and  love — the  man  I  mar- 
ried? " 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  And  that,  Virginia,  is  the  one 
great  thing  you  have  to  forgive." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment her  body  was  shaken  with  sobs.  But  pres- 
ently she  recovered  herself  and  looked  up  at  me. 
She  held  out  her  hands — both  hands:  "  Of  course 
I  forgive  you,"  she  said;  "  indeed,  between  you  and 

316 


A  NIGHT   IN  JUNE 

me  there  could  hardly  be  a  question  of  forgiveness. 
But,  oh,  if — if  only  you  had  trusted  me !  " 

"  It  wasn't  that,"  I  said  quickly.  "  When  you 
hear  the  story  you  will  know  it  wasn't  that.  Will 
you  listen  to  it  now,  Virginia  ?  " 

Up  to  now  I  had  been  standing  before  her. 
Now  she  moved  her  skirts  a  little  to  make 
room  for  me  beside  her  on  the  bench.  "  Sit 
down,"  she  said;  "sit  here  beside  me,  close,  and 
tell  me." 

14  Three  years  ago,"  I  began,  "  three  years  ago 
this  very  month  I  was,  so  far  as  I  knew,  just  ex- 
actly the  man  that  Dr.  Linol  and  all  my  friends 
believed  me  to  be — spoiled,  idle,  fastidious,  lik- 
able, and  affectionate  to  all  my  friends,  and  su- 
premely indifferent  to  everybody  else.  I  had  no 
other  ambition  than  to  enjoy  the  inheritance,  which 
I  knew  would  one  day  come  to  me,  to  the  full — to 
live  my  life  out  as  I  had  begun  it.  According  to 
the  standards  of  my  class,  I  was  a  right-minded 
enough  young  man.  Compared  to  my  cousin 
Arthur,  I  was  quite  a  model  of  deportment  and 
rectitude.  But  no  sort  of  idea  ever  entered 
my  head  that  my  father's  work,  his  fortune, 
and  his  great  career  imposed  any  obligation  on 
me. 

"  As  Dr.  Linol  has  told  you,  I  was  planning  an 
extended  trip  into  the  interior  of  Africa,  nominally 

317 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT  A  SHADOW] 

in  search  of  big  game.  Really  what  I  hoped  for 
was  something  that  would  provide  me  with  a  new 
sensation.  I  was  getting  bored — tired  of  luxury 
and  silly  society,  and  my  mother's  death  had  de- 
prived me  of  the  only  companionship  I  had  ever 
really  enjoyed.  So  some  such  alternative  as  that 
expedition  was  the  only  thing  that  occurred  to 
me. 

"  I  was  on  the  very  eve  of  starting.  I  had  taken 
leave  of  my  friends  in  the  neighborhood  at  a  din- 
ner at  Tours.  I  was  driving  back  to  la  Mesle,  in 
a  rather  complacent  frame  of  mind,  enjoying  the 
fine  June  night — a  night  like  this — enjoying  my 
cigarette  and  the  comfort  of  my  carriage,  which 
was  rolling  smoothly  along  across  the  great  Tours 
bridge. 

"  Halfway  across  the  bridge  I  saw  a  man  lean- 
ing against  the  parapet.  As  my  carriage  came  op- 
posite him,  he  cast  a  quick  look  around,  and  as 
quickly  looked  away  again.  He  was  a  man  I  knew 
— a  peasant  who  had  been  one  my  father's  stable- 
men at  the  chateau.  He  had  been  frugal  and  pros- 
perous in  a  small  way  and  had  left  my  father's 
employ  to  go  into  business  in  Tours.  The  man 
had  known  me,  as  a  man  in  his  class  can  know 
one  in  mine,  ever  since  my  boyhood.  To-night, 
however,  he  did  not  appear  to  recognize  me.  I 
had  seen  his  face  as  distinctly  as  he  must  have  seen 


A   NIGHT   IN   JUNE 

mine,  and  the  look  in  it  troubled  me.  It  was  half 
mad  with  despair. 

"  When  I  had  driven  perhaps  a  hundred  yards 
beyond  where  he  was  standing,  I  told  the  coachman 
to  stop,  and  dismounted  and  went  back  toward 
him.  On  seeing  me  approach,  he  suddenly  stripped 
his  coat  back  from  his  shoulders,  not  far  enough  to 
slip  it  off,  but  just  enough  to  bind  his  arms,  and 
began  scrambling  up  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge. 
I  realized  at  once  what  he  was  trying  to  do,  made 
a  rush  toward  him  and  succeeded  in  catching  him 
before  he  went  over.  If  I  had  not  been  stronger 
than  he,  I  think  he  would  have  taken  me  with  him, 
for  he  was  absolutely  determined  to  make  an  end 
of  himself. 

"  I  finally  quieted  him,  however,  and  got  him  to 
talk  to  me.  His  story  was  the  old  one  of  ill  luck — 
petty  speculation — the  investment  of  the  little  sum 
he  had  left  in  lottery  tickets,  which,  of  course,  had 
drawn  blank,  and  he  was  threatened  now  with  ab- 
solute ruin.  He  had  a  wife  and  children.  To 
my  remonstrances  he  paid  very  little  attention, 
but  he  said  one  thing  that  struck  me  most  for- 
cibly : 

"  *  What  are  you,  you  rich,  that  you  should  in- 
terfere with  us  ?  You  don't  play  our  game.' 

"  At  my  request  he  told  me  what  he  meant.  He 
meant  that  a  man  like  me  didn't  take  a  fair  sport- 

319 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

ing  chance  with  life;  that  he  played,  as  it  were, 
with  stacked  cards,  and  he  told  me  bluntly  that  if 
I  stood  where  he  did,  stripped  of  the  aids  which 
my  money  and  position  gave  me,  I  couldn't  last 
two  years. 

"  What  really  developed  the  irony  of  the  situa- 
tion between  us  came  out  when  I  asked  him  how 
much  it  would  require  to  pay  his  debts  and  put  him 
on  his  feet  again.  The  sum  he  named  was  two 
thousand  francs,  and  I  had  more  than  that  at  that 
moment  in  my  pocket.  I  had  won  more  than  that 
that  very  evening  in  a  rather  stupid  game  of  bridge. 
When  I  thought  that  for  the  lack  of  a  sum  that 
to  my  extravagant  notion  in  those  days  was  hardly 
more  than  a  decent  amount  of  loose  change  for  a 
gentleman  to  carry  in  his  pockets — for  the  lack  of 
a  sum  like  that  a  man  had  seriously  contemplated 
destroying  himself,  I  somehow  seemed  to  feel  all 
the  foundations  of  my  own  world — all  my  belief 
in  the  validity  of  its  standards — slip  away  from 
under  me. 

"  The  upshot  of  the  interview  was  that  I  and 
my  friend  struck  a  bargain.  He  was  to  take  two 
thousand  francs  and  go  back  to  the  life  he  had  de- 
termined to  quit;  and  I,  on  my  part,  was  to  start 
out,  penniless,  and  without  the  support  which  my 
name  and  position  gave  me,  and  live  for  two  years 
by  my  own  exertions.  The  thing  wasn't  prac- 

320 


A   NIGHT   IN    JUNE 

ticable  in  France,  and  I  decided  to  emigrate  to 
America,  the  place  where  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
me  I  really  belonged. 

"  As  soon  as  I  could  earn  money  enough — and 
you  shall  hear  some  day  how  I  did  it — to  purchase 
a  steerage  passage,  I  put  that  resolve  into  execu- 
tion. Virginia,  the  man  you  found  there  was  not 
a  masquerader.  If  I  went  to  Cleveport  for  no  bet- 
ter reason  than  that  I  regarded  my  bargain  with 
the  man  on  the  bridge  as  a  good  sporting  proposi- 
tion, that  was  not  why  I  stayed.  The  ideals,  hopes, 
ambitions  that  I  confided  to  you  were  genuine. 
The  man  you  knew — Morton  Smith — was  a  real 
man — a  man  far  more  real  than  the  idle  young 
aristocrat,  Christopher  Morton,  had  ever  been. 

"  I  had  the  power,  of  course,  to  make  my  dreams 
come  true,  but  I  meant  to  carry  out  the  terms  of 
my  bargain  first.  They  are  fulfilled  now  to  the 
letter.  And  now,  please  God,  together  we  can  be- 
gin making  the  dreams  come  true." 

Virginia's  eyes  were  shining  with  excitement. 
"  It  seems  like  the  ending  of  a  fairy  tale.  But,  oh 
— if  I  had  only  known,"  she  concluded. 

"  I  am  coming  to  that,"  said  I.  "  Remember 
tKat  until  I  came  to  Cleveport  I  had  been  an  idle 
young  man  of  good  position,  destined  to  be  very 
rich,  and  I  had  been  horribly  spoiled,  as  such  young 
men  are.  I  had  made  friends  who  liked  me  just 

321 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

for  myself,  no  doubt;  but  every  little  while  some* 
thing  would  happen  to  make  me  doubt  whether 
any  of  the  friendship  and  affection  I  seemed  to 
command  was  for  me,  or  for  my  clothes,  my  cir- 
cumstances. And,  Virginia,  dear,  you  can  hardly 
imagine  what  it  meant  to  me,  in  my  shabby  little 
corner  down  there  at  Cleveport,  to  find  that  I — I, 
myself — was  able  to  command  your  interest  and 
your  liking,  and  then  your  love.  It  was  not  a  test 
of  you,  dear;  it  was  a  test  of  myself.  You  didn't 
patronize  me,  you  didn't  pity  me,  and — I  wonder 
if  you  can  realize  how  much  this  means — I  hon- 
estly believe,  Virginia,  that  I  should  have  asked 
you  to  marry  me  just  the  same  if  I  had  been  plain 
Morton  Smith  and  nothing  else,  with  no  possibility 
of  turning  into  anything  else. 

"  I  was  a  coward  not  to  tell  you  before  we  were 
married.  We  could  have  gone  on — you  and  I — 
carrying  out  my  bargain  just  the  same,  but  we  were 
so  supremely  happy,  always,  when  we  were  to- 
gether that  I  could  never  muster  courage  to  tell 
you  something  that  I  feared  might  make  a  differ- 
ence. I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  day — our  wed- 
ding day — and  again  my  cowardice  prevailed,  and 
I  put  it  off  a  little  longer.  It  was  too  perfect — 
too  absolutely  perfect  as  it  was — to  change. 

"As  to  your  father,  you  will  remember  that  he 
had  told  me  nothing  of  his  secret,  not  even  what  it 

322 


A   NIGHT   IN    JUNE 

was  that  he  was  doing.  I  knew  what  he  was — a 
great  man  and  a  successful  man.  I  knew  that  he 
had  a  close  connection,  though  I  didn't  know  ex- 
actly what,  with  the  Morton-Duggleby  Company. 
When  I  heard  that  night  for  the  first  time  of  the 
vile  wrong  they  were  trying  to  do  him,  my  first 
thought  was  that  I  must  set  that  wrong  right  be- 
fore I  did  anything  else.  I  left  you  very  soon  after 
he  came  in,  you  remember.  I  went  straight  back 
to  New  York,  went  to  the  Holland  House  where 
I  had  rooms,  and  took  on  again  the  person  of 
Christopher  Morton. 

'  Then  I  went  to  the  Dugglebys'  house.  I 
found  the  father  and  son  there  together.  They 
knew  me,  of  course,  and  my  coming  and  my  an- 
nouncement that  I  meant  to  take  up  the  authority 
which  was  mine,  under  my  father's  will,  was  a 
great  blow  to  them.  It  was  a  heavier  blow  when 
I  told  them  where  I  had  been  spending  the  last 
two  years — how  I  knew  the  mills,  the  furnaces, 
the  hovels,  the  gaunt  poverty,  the  sacrifices  of  life, 
the  maiming  of  souls  that  were  piling  up  our  vast 
fortune — theirs  and  mine. 

"  And  in  the  end,  I  accused  them  flatly  of  the 
crime  they  were  contemplating  against  your  father, 
the  crime  they  had  already  attempted.  I  remem- 
ber young  Duggleby  making  a  savage  spring  at  my 
throat,  and  that  is  the  last  thing  I  remember  until 

323 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

I  came  to  myself  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  sun  at 
Dr.  Berry's  asylum. 

"  There  is  the  end  of  my  story,  Virginia.  Am  I, 
indeed,  forgiven?  " 

She  did  not  speak,  but  I  had  my  answer  for  all 
that. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE   LAST   CARD 

IT  may  have  been  an  hour  later,  and  that  was 
very  late  indeed,  lacking  only  a  little  of  dawn, 
and  the  chill  of  the  outdoor  air  had  driven  us  to 
retreat  into  the  morning  room,  when  we  heard  a 
discreet  tap  at  the  door. 

"Trust  the  doctor  for  tact,"  said  I.  "Any 
other  man  would  have  walked  right  in." 

Virginia  laughed,  laid  a  caressing  finger  on  my 
lips,  and  rose  to  admit  him. 

The  doctor's  face  was  very  pale  and  his  eyes 
were  grave.  I  knew  the  reason  well  enough.  They 
had  been  peering,  those  thoughtful  eyes  of  his, 
down  into  the  shadows  of  the  valley  of  death,  the 
valley  which,  however  often  he  might  approach  it 
in  company  with  the  pilgrims  whose  way  lay 
thither,  must  always  remain  a  mystery  to  him  until 
he  should  turn  pilgrim  himself. 

But  he  looked  earnestly  into  Virginia's  face,  and 
then  down  into  mine;  and  presently  he  smiled. 
Evidently  our  faces  told  our  story  plainly  enough. 

325 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  holding  out  his  hand  to 
Virginia,  "  I  think  you  are  going  to  be  very  happy. 
I  shall  require  you  to  ask  my  forgiveness,  but  it  is 
granted  already  before  it  is  asked." 

"Your  forgiveness,  monsieur?"  she  asked,  a 
little  puzzled. 

"  For  destroying,  so  that  he  is  as  if  he  had  never 
been,  my  latest  godchild — the  young  man — the 
enigmatical  young  man — with  whose  mystery  I 
had  hoped  to  comfort  my  declining  years.  I  refer 
to  the  late  Monsieur  Simon  Barras." 

"  Are  you  really  so  very  sorry?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  so  far  as  Christopher  Morton  is  con- 
cerned," said  he,  "  I  am  entirely  and  rather  ridicu- 
lously happy.  I  am  glad  to  turn  him  over  to  you 
— a  perfectly  normal,  everyday  young  man.  Mad, 
indeed,  but  with  the  only  sort  of  madness  that  has 
no  interest  for  the  alienist.  The  sort  of  madness 
called  'love,'  mademoiselle."  Then  he  sighed: 
"  But  my  one  ewe  lamb,"  he  concluded,  "  the  only 
enigma  which  I  could  hope  would  permanently 
baffle  me,  him  I  shall  always  regret." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  we  will  do  what  we  can  to 
make  up  to  you  for  his  loss." 

Both  of  us  could  see  that  he  had  something  to 
tell  me,  something  he  hesitated  to  speak  of  in  Vir- 
ginia's presence,  and  presently  she  made  a  pretext 
for  leaving  us. 

326 


THE   LAST    CARD 

"  How  are  your  nerves?  "  he  asked.  "  Are  you 
equal  to  a  rather  trying  interview?  " 

"  I  am  equal  to  anything,"  said  I.  "  What 
is  it?" 

11  It  is  our  friend  Duggleby,"  he  said  gravely. 

"Duggleby!"  I  exclaimed.  "I  thought — I 
thought  he  was  dead." 

"  It  comes  to  that,"  said  the  doctor.  "  He  shot 
himself  through  the  body.  He  will  live  perhaps 
three  or  four  hours.  He  is  a  very  wonderful 
young  man.  He  has  already  written,  with  his  own 
hand,  a  letter  to  his  father.  Now  he  wants  very 
much  to  talk  with  you.  The  end  may  come  with 
him  at  any  moment.  If  you  are  ready,  let  us  go  at 
once." 

Much  as  I  dreaded  the  interview  that  lay  before 
us,  common  humanity  forbade  any  hesitation.  I 
accompanied  the  doctor  to  the  room  where  he  lay. 
It  was  hard  to  believe  that  the  young  man  I  saw 
lying  there,  still  fully  dressed,  upon  the  couch,  was 
within  a  few  hours,  at  the  most,  of  death.  There 
was  no  trace  of  pain  in  his  face,  nor  in  his  easy, 
and,  I  almost  said,  lounging  attitude.  To  make 
the  illusion  complete,  he  was  smoking  a  cigarette. 

He  smiled  at  me  when  he  saw  me  come  in  with 
the  doctor.  He  smiled  again,  with  a  whimsical, 
almost  impish,  humor  as  he  nodded  me  to  a 
chair. 

22  327 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  Turn  about;  that's  fair  play,  isn't  it?  "  he  said. 

In  contrast  with  his  coolness,  I  was  so  moved 
that  I  found  it  difficult  to  command  my  voice.  "  I 
am  sorry,"  I  said  at  last. 

Then,  noting  the  politely  skeptical  lift  to  his 
eyebrows  with  which  he  answered,  I  gathered  my- 
self together.  "  Oh,  not  that  the  wheel  turned 
about,"  said  I,  "I  don't  pretend  to  that;  but  I 
am  sorry  that  *  up  '  with  me  had  to  mean  '  down  * 
with  you.  I  believe  that  with  a  little  better  luck, 
we  might  have  been  friends  instead  of  enemies." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  inclined  to  think  we 
might.  I  am  sorry  for  that,  too.  But  please  don't 
think,"  he  went  on — and  I  saw  the  same  mocking 
lift  to  his  brows  that  I  had  remarked  before — 
"  please  don't  think  that  I  have  brought  you  here 
to  harry  you  with  a  death-bed  repentance.  I  am 
not  repentant  a  bit.  If  I  had  the  hand  to  play 
over  again,  I  should  play  it  in  the  same  way." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  rather  grim-looking  set 
of  cards  that  made  up  that  hand,"  I  answered, 
falling  in  with  his  humor  as  well  as  I  could. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  was;  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  that."  After  a  little  silence,  he  went  on :  "I 
have  a  feeling  that  I  want  to  tell  you  what  those 
cards  were.  I  saw  you  were  puzzled  to-night.  I 
think  when  I  tell  you,  you  will  understand." 

The  doctor  had  withdrawn  to  the  other  end  of 
328 


THE   LAST    CARD 

the  room.    I  pulled  my  chair  up  close  to  the  couch 
where  he  was  lying. 

"  Oh,  I  can  be  rather  brief  about  it,"  he  said. 
"  To  begin  at  the  beginning,  I  had  always  hated 
the  thought  of  you.  I  imagined  you  to  be  a  vacu- 
ous little  French  expatriate,  with  eau  de  cologne  in 
your  veins  instead  of  real  blood.  I  never  had  any 
occasion  to  change  that  estimate  until  you  came  to 
see  my  father  and  me  that  night  in  the  library. 

"  I  had  always  considered  myself,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  pretty  good  sort  of  person.  I  was  not  an 
altruist;  I  had  not  any  dreams  of  making  every- 
body happy;  I  didn't,  and  don't  at  this  moment 
believe  that  it  can  be  done.  The  only  happiness  in 
this  world  consists  in  seeing  that  we  are  better  off 
than  somebody  else.  There  isn't  any  such  thing 
as  pleasure,  except  in  contrast  to  pain;  nor  good- 
ness, except  as  it  has  a  background  of  badness  to 
set  it  off.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  made  a  world 
like  that  if  I  were  Almighty  God.  As  it  stands,  I 
have  never  seen  how  I  could  change  it.  A  few 
people  who  can  struggle  up  out  of  the  mire  of 
misery  are  happy  just  because  the  mire  is  there." 

He  interrupted  himself  with  a  short  laugh:  "  I 
didn't  think  I  should  take  to  the  pulpit  at  the  last 
moment,"  he  said.  "  It  is  vilely  unfair  of  me  to 
preach  you  a  sermon.  Light  one  of  those  cigar- 
ettes on  the  table,  won't  you,  and  let  it  pass. 

329 


"  I  said  I  had  always  considered  myself  a  de- 
cent sort  of  chap,  but  I  knew  I  had  one  rather  dan- 
gerous fault,  and  a  curiously  crude,  elemental  one 
at  that.  Ever  since  I  can  remember,  I  have  been 
liable  to  sudden  bursts  of  rage.  Every  now  and 
then,  a  comparatively  small  thing — a  ridiculously 
inadequate  thing  sometimes — would  put  me  quite 
beside  myself.  I  have  knocked  a  man  down  for 
merely  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm — all  in  a  flash, 
and  before  I  fairly  knew  what  had  happened.  It 
had  got  me  into  trouble  a  good  many  times,  and 
I  had  always  taken  my  medicine  and  made  what 
reparation  I  could.  Outside  of  that,  I  was  a  de- 
cent, well-meaning,  hard-working  sort  of  chap, 
whom  my  friends  found  agreeable." 

He  sighed  a  little,  and  there  was  a  moment's 
silence  before  he  went  on :  "  Oh,  it  is  not  especially 
easy  to  tell  the  rest  of  it.  The  night  you  came  to 
our  house  and  made  your  speech  about  conditions 
as  you  found  them  at  our  plant — I  had  to  regard 
it  as  ours,  not  yours,  you  will  understand  that,  I 
think — I  was  angry,  rebellious.  I  felt  that  Fate 
had  played  us  a  scurvy  trick  in  giving  you  the 
power  to  assume  authority  over  our  heads — mine 
and  father's.  But  the  thing  you  had  done,  the 
way  you  got  your  knowledge,  compelled  a  genuine, 
though  grudging,  admiration.  I  give  you  my  word 
that  up  to  the  moment  when  you  accused  us  of 

330 


THE   LAST    CARD 

attempting  a  crime  against  old  Mr.  Heatherfield, 
I  had  no  thought  but  of  accepting  the  situation 
with  the  best  grace  possible.  When  you  made  that 
accusation,  I  believed  it  utterly  and  preposterously 
untrue,  and  in  that  belief  one  of  my  sudden  rages 
swept  over  me. 

"  I  sprang  upon  you,  not  knowing  what  I  was 
doing.  You  were  totally  unprepared,  and  under 
my  rush  you  toppled  over  backward,  striking  your 
head  against  the  corner  of  a  table  as  you  fell. 
When  I  saw  you  lying  there,  apparently  dead,  I 
came  to  myself.  I  straightened  up  and  turned  to 
my  father,  expecting  his  reproaches,  ready  to  take 
the  consequences  for  the  violent  thing  I  had  done. 
But  the  look  I  saw  in  his  face — and  that,  if  it  does 
not  sound  theatrical  to  say,  was  the  tragic  moment 
in  my  life — the  look  I  saw  there  was  one  of  fright, 
and  yet  it  was  furtive. 

"  I  will  spare  myself,  if  you  don't  mind,  the 
details  of  the  conversation  that  passed  between  us. 
The  upshot  of  it  was  that  my  father  confessed  that 
your  accusation  was  true;  that  he  had  instigated 
the  robbery  of  Mr.  Heatherfield's  laboratory; 
that  he  had  got  the  old  man's  preliminary  proc- 
esses, and  had  meant  to  get  his  immensely  valu- 
able discovery  for  nothing.  For  nothing  dearer 
than  the  knowledge  that  he  himself  was  a 
thief. 

331 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  All  that  while  you  lay  there  on  the  floor,  ap- 
parently dead.  In  that  moment  I  took  my  deci- 
sion. It  may  not  have  been  the  one  you  would 
have  taken  in  similar  circumstances,  but  at  least 
you  will  understand  how  I  came  to  take  it.  I  said 
to  my  father :  '  Here  we  stand  a  pair  of  criminals. 
You're  a  thief  and  I'm  a  murderer,  but  at  least  we 
can  act  like  men  and  not  like  a  pair  of  whipped 
curs.  We  are  criminals.  Well,  let's  play  it  out. 
Let's  take  our  medicine.  And,  by  God,  let's  give 
them  a  run  for  their  money ! ' 

"  And  that  is  what  we  have  tried  to  do.  We 
found  you  were  not  dead,  and  we  resolved  that  for 
all  practical  purposes  you  should  be.  I  happened 
to  know  Dr.  Berry — as  arrant  a  knave  as  ever 
lived  in  the  world,  plying  his  nefarious  trade — 
and  we  packed  you  off  to  him,  with  infinite  precau- 
tion and  infinite  secrecy.  He  thought  it  probable 
that  you  would  never  recover  even  your  wits,  but 
he  understood  our  wishes  thoroughly. 

"  When  he  found  that  with  your  recovered  con- 
sciousness you  had  not  recovered  your  memory, 
the  thing  seemed  comparatively  easy,  though  if 
you  had  recovered  your  memory  when  you  were 
in  our  power,  our  course  would  have  been  the 
same.  We  should  have  had  to  use  more  drastic 
measures — that  would  have  been  the  only  dif- 
ference. 

332 


THE   LAST    CARD 

"  And  then  that  scapegrace  cousin  of  yours 
turned  up,  very  seedy  indeed,  since  his  allowance 
had  stopped  with  your  father's  death,  and  he  was 
just  the  man  for  our  purposes.  He  looked  enough 
like  you  to  pass  with  a  casual  stranger.  He  knew 
enough  about  you  to  answer  questions.  So,  to  fill 
up  a  vacuum  which  your  disappearance  would  have 
otherwise  caused,  we  sent  him  abroad  to  imper- 
sonate you." 

He  paused  there,  and  tossed  away  his  cigarette. 
"  The  rest  of  it,"  he  said,  "  you  know  as  well  as 
I  do." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  glad  you  told  me.  I 
think  I  shall  regret  all  my  life  that  we  couldn't 
have  been  friends;  that  the  fortune  of  the  game 
compelled  you  to  be  my  enemy." 

"  Just  this  much  more,"  he  said  presently. 
*'  You  may  not  find  it  easy  to  believe,  but  the  first 
happy  moment  I  had  after  that  night  in  the  library, 
was  when  I  got  word  that  you  had  escaped.  Life 
had  got  pretty  nearly  intolerable  for  me  then.  The 
thing  was  too  easy.  Our  success  was  too  complete. 
I  wanted  to  fight,  not  to  sit  around  and  grow  rich 
and  respectable.  When  I  heard  you  had  got  away 
from  Dr.  Berry,  I  was  within  a  day  or  two  of 
shooting  myself.  That  news  changed  the  whole 
face  of  things  for  me.  I  had  something  to  do! 
Something  almost  impossible  to  do!  Something 

333 


THE   MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

that  was,  if  you  will  allow  it,  a  good  sporting  prop- 
osition, and  I  honestly  enjoyed  it.  Enjoyed  the 
risks,  the  crimes,  the  growing  certainty  of  disaster 
ahead  of  me.  I  enjoyed  it  until  to-night,  until  I 
had  you  penned  in  that  corner,  and  sent  my  man 
away  so  that  I  could  kill  you.  And  at  that — well,. 
I  saw  by  your  face  you  understood ! 

"  I  would  have  told  you  this  story  then  if  I  had 
had  time,  but  that  would  not  have  been  playing  the 
game,  and  I  meant  to  play  the  game  out  to  the 
last  card.  Thank  God,  Morton,  it's  played!  It's 
over." 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  lighted  another 
cigarette.  "  Thank  you  for  coming  down  to  lis- 
ten," he  said  quietly.  "  I  won't  detain  you  any 
longer.  I  can't  detain  myself  much  Longer,  I  fancy. 
Good-by." 

I  could  not  speak,  but  I  went  over  to  him  and 
held  out  my  hand.  The  same  cynical  little  flash 
that  I  had  seen  there  before  came  into  his  face. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  that's  rather  an  odd  thing  to 
do,  but,  by  the  Lord,  man,  I  think  you  mean  it !  " 
With  those  words  his  hand  met  mine. 

I  think  as  long  as  I  live  the  story  of  his  tragedy 
will  haunt  me.  It  is  a  curious  paradox  that  this 
man,  who  would  have  murdered  me  in  cold  blood, 
whose  sole  deliberate  purpose  to  the  end  of  his  life 
was  to  crush  me,  thwart  me,  deprive  me  not  only 

334 


THE   LAST    CARD 

of  my  inheritance  but  of  my  very  self — the  figure 
of  this  man,  who  took  up  the  cards  Fate  dealt  him 
to  play,  and  played  them  out  to  the  last  with  so 
grim  a  courage — that  figure  remains  in  my  mem- 
ory as  a  friend  and  not  an  enemy. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

"  MY  ALL-THE-WORLD  " 

IT  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Dr.  de  Villiers — no, 
suggestion  will  hardly  stretch  to  cover  the  case 
— at  his  earnest,  insistent  request  that  I  set  about 
the  task  of  completing  the  record  of  the  search  for 
myself,  the  record  which  I  began  in  momentary 
intervals  of  leisure  while  I  was  playing  the  piano 
in  Mike  Lynch's  saloon  at  Coney  Island.  I  had 
begun  it  in  the  fear  that  an  obliterating  hand  might 
again  be  laid  upon  my  memory;  that  the  small, 
pitiful  progress  which  I  made  on  the  road  to  my 
discovery  during  those  first  days  might  be  undone. 
No  such  fear  as  that  prompted  the  doctor's  sug- 
gestion that  I  conclude  the  work.  "  You  are  to 
understand,"  he  explained,  "  that  you  are  a  per- 
fectly normal  man  again,  and  unless  some  other 
enemy  taps  you  on  the  head,  you  are  likely  to  re- 
main so.  But,  being  normal,  you  will  begin  for- 
getting just  about  the  same  percentage  of  the  past 
that  the  normal  man  forgets.  A  year  from  now, 
the  events  of  this  past  month  will  be  little  more 

336 


"MY   ALL— THE— WORLD  " 

than  a  dream  to  you,  forgotten  all  the  faster  be- 
cause of  the  unusual  nature  of  them.  You  will  be 
incapable  of  accounting  for  such  acts  as  you  do 
remember,  and  the  task  of  tracing  out  those  ex- 
tremely interesting  and  curious  mental  processes 
and  confusions  of  yours  will  be  utterly  beyond  your 
powers.  Yet  it  is  a  record  which,  if  clearly  and 
copiously  made,  would  be  of  inestimable  value.  So 
waste  no  time  setting  about  it,  my  friend." 

I  should  have  been  loath  to  take  up  the  task  had 
not  the  doctor  let  me  see  how  highly  he  would 
prize  the  result  of  it;  how  eagerly  he  wanted  the 
story,  told  from  my  point  of  view,  of  the  events 
which  he  already  knew  so  well  from  his  own.  His 
interest  in  it,  of  course,  was  purely  scientific,  but 
I  am  afraid  that  for  his  purposes  he  will  find  it 
treated  in  too  highly  romantic  a  manner.  Well, 
that  is  distinctly  not  my  fault. 

We  are  here  at  la  Mesle,  Virginia  and  I,  alone 
together,  living  out  our  honeymoon  which  Fate 
deprived  us  of  before.  Mr.  Heatherfield  and  the 
doctor  are  jogging  about  Europe,  doing  our  trav- 
eling for  us,  leaving  to  us  the  sweet  solitude  and 
peace  of  this  dear  old  home  of  mine. 

Our  future  is  bound  to  be  crowded  with  activi- 
ties. Cleveport  is  there — horrible,  gaunt,  squalid 
as  ever — for  us  to  remake  into  a  place  for  human 
habitation,  a  place  where  men  and  women  and 

337 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A    SHADOW 

children  may  live  real  lives.  That  is  a  task  which 
both  of  us  are  eager  to  assume. 

But  before  that  happens  we  are  stealing  these 
flelicious  days  of  pure  golden,  unalloyed  delight. 
The  doctor  says  we  have  earned  them,  and  I  think 
that  is  true. 

This  record  is  done.  It  has  been  my  only  occu- 
pation during  the  past  weeks,  and  now,  for  the  re- 
maining days,  I  mean  to  have  no  occupation  at  all, 
except — well,  except  making  love  to  Virginia. 

Strangely  enough,  that  miraculous  change  of 
mine,  which  came  when  the  tiny  spring  under  my 
finger  yielded  and  opened  the  sliding  door  for  me, 
that  change  has  miraculously  left  another  change 
unwrought.  This  is  something  about  my  feeling 
toward  Virginia.  There  is  still,  whenever  I  see  her, 
the  same  poignant,  exquisite,  and  only  half-believed 
realization  that  she  is  really  mine.  The  returning 
flood  of  all  the  memory  of  my  past  brought  with 
it  no  commonplace  acceptance  of  her — of  this  girl 
who  had  married  me  more  than  a  year  ago — as  a 
possession  to  be  taken  for  granted. 

She  is  still  the  half-unknown  wonder  of  delight 
to  me  that  she  was  to  Simon  Barras.  Whether  this 
is  due,  in  part,  to  the  temporary  suspension  of  my 
self-conscious  identity,  or  whether  the  miracle  of 
it  resides  wholly  in  her,  I  do  not  know.  And  cer- 
tainly it  does  not  very  greatly  matter.  All  I  know 

338 


"MY   ALL— THE— WORLD  " 

is  that  her  white  hands  have  to-day,  for  me,  the 
same  quickening  thrill  that  they  had  when  they 
locked  so  softly  into  mine  that  night  in  the  inn  at 
Mettray;  and  that  the  look  I  sometimes  see  in  her 
eyes  can  suddenly  blur  my  vision  with  unshed  tears. 

I  saw  her  just  this  moment  through  the  win- 
dows of  the  morning  room  which  open  on  the  ter- 
race. She  was  crossing  it  toward  the  lawn  where 
the  white  peafowl  are,  and  the  sight  of  her  made 
my  heart  leap,  just  as  it  had  leaped  when  I  found 
her  there  in  the  dawn  after  my  interview  with 
Duggleby. 

She  had  greeted  me  then  without  a  word,  with 
just  an  outstretched  hand,  and  we  had  set  out  to- 
gether down  the  path  under  the  beeches. 

The  dew  lay  thick  upon  the  grass,  and  the  air, 
though  cool,  was  intoxicating  in  its  sweet  perfume. 
The  limpid  sky  was  aflush  with  the  morning. 

Presently  we  stopped  and  looked  back  at  the 
chateau.  Its  gray  walls  were  tinted  faintly,  with 
the  rose  color  of  the  dawn. 

"  It's  home,  Virginia — your  home  and  mine." 

Her  cheeks  flushed  then,  as  if  all  the  glory  of 
the  morning  were  reflected  there.  She  withdrew 
her  hand  then,  and  clasped  the  two  together,  as  if 
they  were  trembling. 

"You  are  glad?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes — glad,"  she  answered,  not  very  steadily, 

339 


THE    MAN   WITHOUT   A   SHADOW 

"  but — but  a  little  afraid.  Are  you  sure — you 
with  another  name  than  the  one  I  called  you  by — 
are  you  sure,  now  all  the  past  has  come  back,  that 
you  love  me  as  well  as — "  then  she  smiled — "  as 
Simon  Barras  loved  me  yesterday?  " 

"  Just  as  well,"  I  told  her,  "  and  in  just  the  same 
way.  I  am  still  your  lover,  Virginia — just  your 
lover,  and — and  I,  too,  am  a  little  afraid." 

"  As  if,"  she  questioned,  "  as  if  it  couldn't  quite 
be  true?  As  if  it  might  be  nothing  but  a  fairy 
tale?" 

I  nodded,  for  I  could  not  speak. 

And  then  she  stretched  out  her  arms  again,  and 
clasped  her  hands  behind  my  head. 

"  Yes,  it's  true,"  she  said.  "  You  are  my  hus- 
band, and  here — here,  wherever  you  are,  is  my 
home.  Come,  shall  we  go  in  ?  " 

Here,  M.  de  Villiers,  is  the  task  completed  that 
you  set  for  me.  Virginia  has  been  waiting  all  the 
morning  for  me  to  finish.  I  think  she  is  still  there 
on  the  lawn  where  the  white  peafowl  are.  I  am 
going  to  see. 

THE   END  (4) 


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GRET:    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
tent with  the  wild  Ufe— until  love  comes.  A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con- 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  of 
all,  permeating  the  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 
and  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 
abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.  By  Josephine  Daskam.  Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbabies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.    A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 
REBECCA  MARY.     By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.     Illustrated 
by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 
THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katharine  Cecil  Thnrston. 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.   By  George  Ban McCutcheon. 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.  One  of  Mr.  McCutche  n's  best  books.* 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.  By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.  Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-lqcatable  land  called  "  Brer   Rabbit's   Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  their 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 
THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.    With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  "^of^Wall  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.   By  Norman  Way.   Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa"  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himself  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  he  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorous 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

a  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  young  man  is  brought  in 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci- 
ent lineage  by  winning  the  love  of  the  fairest  girl  in  the  Sock. 

A  WOMAN'S  WAY.    By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 

scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husband 
from  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jcnks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  village 
•where  she  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  the 
opera  in  New  York.  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  she 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus- 
trated by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 

A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  . .  ho  comes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman ;  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 

unflinching  realism. 

THE  SQUAW  MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  hi  dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIPL  IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illustrated 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  ven- 
turesome spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE   SCARLET   PIMPERNEL.    By  Baroness  Orczy.    Dlus- 

trated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  in 
•dramatic  incident,  with  a  young  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  mysteri- 
ous as  the  hero, 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


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